


You Don't Even Know Me (It's Only A Feeling)

by shadowdreams



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Andrew is very gay, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming Out, Demisexual Neil Josten, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Kind of Angsty but not really, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Smut, Pining, Slow Burn, Swearing, Undercover Missions, mention of past abuse that is canon-typical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowdreams/pseuds/shadowdreams
Summary: Neil Hatford, head of the infamous Hatford mob family.Andrew Doe, ambitious newcomer to the world of organized crime.And a story where neither of them is who they say they are but still end up falling for each other.Or, what happens when two governments are really bad at communication and two guys get stuck in the middle.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 129
Kudos: 570
Collections: All For The Game random short stories, Andreil





	1. Chapter 1—Neil

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving this story a go! This was supposed to be a short and somewhat funny fluff piece that got slightly out of hand.
> 
> Before we get to the story, I would like to take this opportunity and thank the national security agent that has been patiently watching me write this story over the last couple months. We made it, friend! Can you please take me off those watch lists now? I promise I’m done searching for things like the blueprints of the FBI headquarters and how wire taps work.
> 
> Also, any portrayal of government agencies in this fic is purely fictional. I’m sure they’re all great people and do quality work, so please don’t sue me for defamation.
> 
> Four last notes: One, if you have any concerns about tagged content, please leave a comment or message me on tumblr at noirfae and I’ll let you know which scenes to skip. Two, if you notice any tags missing, please let me know in the comments. Three, the title is from the song Pieces by Declan J. Donovan. And four, this story is unbetaed, so any mistakes are my own and shall please be ignored.
> 
> With that out of the way, let’s suspend reality, ignore any and all plot holes, and enjoy a definitely not short but hopefully somewhat funny fluff piece!

> **deal**
> 
> _noun_ | agreement between two parties for their mutual benefit; also: means to get something you want by tricking the other side to agree to supposedly advantageous conditions

* * *

**May 28 | 6:41 am GMT+1 | Southern Road, East Finchley, London, England**

Purples and oranges streaked across the dark blue sky as the sun slowly climbed over the horizon. The neighborhood around Neil was just waking up, the thudding of his feet hitting the ground the only sound he could hear in the sleepy silence.

The tranquility was interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket. The call went ignored—it was too early to listen to anyone’s problems.

Neil was getting to the end of his run as he turned back onto main street, only two miles out from the Hatford family house in the London suburbs. Around him, he could see lights being turned on in the identical looking brick houses lining the streets.

The vibrations stopped only to start again not five seconds later.

Distracted by his relentless phone, Neil almost missed the black SUV coming to an abrupt stop less than ten yards ahead of him. Reacting on instinct—even before his brain fully registered the two massive guys in black tactical clothes getting out of the car—Neil was already cutting left and running across the shared lawn area in between two houses.

Maybe he should’ve picked up the damn phone after all.

Jumping across low fences between properties and swerving around trees, he could hear heavy footsteps following him. At the end of the lawn, he shot out onto the sidewalk of a small street running parallel to main street. Squealing tires had his head snap to the right where the SUV was speeding around the corner about thirty yards away.

Neil scanned his surroundings for additional threats, dismissing the elderly couple in their front yard and the mailman on his bike further down the block. The open street was too dangerous. Crossing the street before the SUV could cut off his path, Neil darted onto another shared garden area in the backyards of a block of houses. Ahead, he knew there was only one more street and a single row of houses before the area opened into a forest-like park where the SUV would not be able to follow him.

A clear destination in mind, Neil ran past an old guy on his left who was letting his dog out into his backyard. Neil ignored him. He also quickly dismissed a short guy about twenty yards ahead leaning against a tree to his right. Listening for his pursuers, he could no longer hear them. Ahead, the street was getting closer. No SUV in sight.

So far so good.

Just then, shorty stepped away from the tree and into his path. Turning toward Neil, he cocked his head to the side and, after a beat, raised his right arm to point a gun at Neil.

_What the fuck._

Where had the gun come from.

Neil was tempted to barrel him to the ground, but given his broad stature, Neil wasn’t sure if he had enough momentum to take him down. Making a split-second decision, he came to a dead stop just out of arm’s reach.

At a closer look, the guy was wearing lightweight tactical clothes, all black. His mother would’ve shot Neil herself if he had ever dismissed someone like that back in the day.

Stupid.

Footsteps behind him slowly closed in but seemed to stop a couple yards away. Past short guy on the street ahead, Neil saw the SUV coming to a stop, another heavy guy stepping out and blocking Neil’s last remaining exit.

Well, fuck.

Deciding that the gun pointed at him was the most pressing issue, Neil focused back on the guy in front of him. He didn’t recognize him but that didn’t have to mean anything—Neil rarely cared enough about anyone in the business to check the profiles his family collected on anyone of importance. After a quick assessment, Neil couldn't pinpoint anything particularly remarkable about this guy with his blond hair and short height. And absolutely terrible aim.

If Neil had ever held a gun like this, Nathan would’ve hacked off his arms.

With the way the gun was swaying slightly, Neil wasn’t sure if a bullet would even hit him. Thinking about it, maybe that was why the guys behind him weren’t coming closer.

He quickly considered faking a British accent and pretending to be someone else but wasn't sure if these guys would be stupid enough to buy it. So instead, he raised his hands placatingly and decided that it was time for some good old distraction.

“Okay,” Neil nodded at short guy, “you got me. Although I have to say, I’m flattered you felt the need to bring so many people for little old me.”

The guy just shrugged. Obnoxiously, the gun followed the movement.

Neil’s first thought had been that these were Nathan’s men but that seemed more unlikely by the minute. There was no way Nathan would ever let someone with aim like this into his crew.

That begged the question, who the fuck were these people?

“Just out of curiosity, is it intentional that you can’t hold the gun still?”

Neil could’ve sworn he saw annoyance flash in short guy’s apathetic stare.

“Just get in the fucking car,” the guy finally said, nodding his head at the SUV waiting behind him. The gun, predictably, bounced along.

His voice was deep with barely any intonation, matching the bored stance. The American accent, however, was painfully obvious. Neil would guess East Coast.

Maybe they had been sent by Nathan after all?

“Sure, sure,” Neil said with no intention of going with these morons, Nathan’s men or not.

He quickly stepped forward and, before short guy could move back, used his forward momentum to kick the gun out of the guy’s hand. With them both being on the short side, he almost missed.

As it was, the kick lacked some of the strength, but thankfully still sent the gun flying. Quickly drawing a knife from his sleeve, Neil cut across the guy’s still raised arm, taking full advantage of his surprise.

Seeing movement in his periphery, he didn’t waste any time and jumped past shorty. Picking up the gun, he pointed it at the guy lingering near the SUV that was cutting off Neil’s path to the forest. Done playing games, Neil shot at the guy’s leg.

The bullet went wide—what the fuck?—but still seemed to throw the guy off enough for Neil to get past him.

Once on the sidewalk, a quick look into the SUV showed it was empty, the key still dangling in the ignition.

Fucking amateurs.

Climbing into the car and slamming the door shut, Neil got the hell out of there.

* * *

**May 28 | 7:18 am GMT+1 | Golders Hill Park, London, England**

After driving around for several minutes, making sure no one was following him, Neil parked the car out of sight near the entrance to a large park area. Throwing the car keys into a nearby trash bin, Neil made his way into the park.

Pulling out his phone, he saw several more missed calls, most of them from his uncle. Calling back, Stuart picked up on the first ring.

“ _Neil._ ”

“Four guys, I got their SUV,” Neil summarized, not risking giving away more information than necessary in case Stuart was compromised.

“ _Are you safe?_ ” Stuart’s voice was full of concern. How he had survived in the world of organized crime—been the head of one of the leading mob families—for so many years and remained such a softy, Neil would never understand.

“Yes. You?” Okay, maybe his uncle had rubbed off on him a bit.

“ _Yes. Where are you? I’ll send Max to pick you up._ ”

As soon as Neil had given him his location, he could hear Stuart giving instructions in the background.

“ _Neil, we need to talk. Word is that Andrew Doe is in London._ ”

“You’re kidding.” Neil groaned into the phone.

Andrew Doe was known for being a cold-blooded bastard. He’d only come on the scene a couple years ago after a spectacular data theft from a US government agency that had shocked governments around the world. It had made Doe instantly famous, especially if you moved in the right circles.

Now Neil _was_ disappointed. No aim, no fighting skills. And incompetent backup.

Shaking his head, Neil tried to focus on the important things. “What does Doe want with me?”

“ _We don’t know yet, but don’t worry, we’ll find out._ ”

Neil wondered not for the first time if Stuart realized that he tended to worry way more than anyone else in the family. Rolling his eyes, Neil made his way to the butterfly house to wait for his guard to pick him up.

* * *

**May 29 | 11:17 am GMT+1 | ~~Drawing~~ Living room, Hatford House, London, England**

Neil was sitting cross-legged in front of the couch table in the living room—no, Stuart, he was _not_ going to call it drawing room, this was not the 1850s. His back was leaning against one of the extremely uncomfortable beige armchairs that bookended the large, black table on each side. To his right stood a massive couch, its back pushed against the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave an almost unobstructed view over the garden. The glass extended around the corners of the room, with doors to an outside deck area behind each armchair. The glass front gave the room a distinctive sunroom feeling, with plenty of natural light and open space. Squished between the couch and the windows was a narrow table covered in piles of paperback books that were shared among all household members.

On the couch table in front of Neil, Doe’s handgun was disassembled into its parts. It was a truly sad excuse for a weapon in Neil’s humble opinion. Even calling it a gun felt almost too optimistic.

Neil had done some test shots earlier at their private shooting range and the _thing_ couldn’t even shoot straight anymore. Given Doe’s bouncy aim, Neil was no longer surprised that he hadn’t bothered aiming properly. For him, hitting a target was probably a lost cause.

Rumor was that Doe had shot his brother when someone had tried to use him as leverage against Doe as part of a deal. It wasn’t easy to shock people in this line of business but that had done the trick—family was considered sacred. Doe disregarding this unspoken rule had gotten him the reputation of being rotten to the core. A monster among criminals.

If Neil was honest, just listening to the shit some Hatford family members said on a daily basis made him want to shoot them. He also thought it was a bit of a double standard to be outraged by Doe’s actions while approving torture and murder of rivals just because they weren’t related by blood.

That being said, Doe’s brother had apparently survived. Neil was no longer surprised.

He heard Stuart’s voice in the hallway drifting closer, interrupting the comfortable silence. In addition to Stuart’s baritone, there was a second voice, deep and suspiciously familiar, that had Neil sit up straighter.

Sure enough, a moment later Stuart walked in. Next to him was, without a doubt, the guy from the day before. The blond hair and short statue were a dead give-away even if Neil had not memorized the light brown eyes framed by full, dark lashes contradicting the light hair color, thick eyebrows looking as if stuck in a perpetual frown, and full lips pressed together almost imperceptibly, betraying a tension mirrored in the guy’s entire frame. He was once again wearing all black, the close-fitting long-sleeved shirt emphasizing his broad shoulders and muscular arms. The black jeans were more snug than any pair of pants Neil owned, and his boots looked too heavy for kicking, but Neil doubted that was something the guy had ever thought about.

Watching Doe take a seat on the armchair across from him, Neil started to casually reassemble the gun while three guards took up position around the room. On Neil’s left, Stuart was filling three tumblers with whiskey like some old-fashioned mob cliché.

“What do you want?” Neil asked, straight to the point. He was not in the mood for small talk but also not stupid enough to completely dismiss this man just because of his dismal shooting and fighting skills.

Stone-faced, Doe just looked back at him. Neil could not read a single emotion on his face.

It was almost impressive.

Still, he didn’t like being silently stared at. He also didn’t appreciate someone getting the drop on him. Slowly, he got up to his feet and pointed the newly assembled gun at Doe.

To his credit, Doe did not show any reaction. After a beat, Neil released the safety on the gun, the click loud in the silent room.

“I suggest you answer my question. Fair warning, unlike you I’m not a terrible shot.”

“Neil, for fuck's sake, put the gun down.”

Neil could see the tiniest narrowing of Doe’s eyes. The guy probably thought Stuart ranked higher than Neil in this conversation. Joke’s on him.

With no warning and only the tiniest movement in his wrist, he fired a shot into the seat cushion just to the left of Doe’s head.

Doe went impossibly still, his face becoming a blank mask, eyes flat. But it was too late, Neil had seen the surprise.

Didn’t expect that, huh.

“Are you fucking—Neil, put the fucking gun down. This is Andrew Doe, he’s here for business. Yesterday was only a misunderstanding, so stop shooting at him, will you.”

At Stuart’s words, Neil saw the guy’s right eye twitch. The movement was so minute, he wondered for a moment if he had imagined it. Taking several deep, calming breaths to keep himself from doing something very stupid, Neil ignored his uncle and instead focused on Andrew Doe, infamous traitor to his country and supposedly monstrous criminal.

“I haven’t heard an answer to my question.”

Doe’s eyes flickered to Stuart before once more settling on Neil.

That’s right, asshole. Stuart is not going to help you.

Finally, Doe started talking, his voice as no-nonsense as the day before, “I want to take down the Butcher to take over his business and his rank in the Moriyama family.”

_What._

That had Neil stopping short. No one was stupid enough to try overthrow Nathan. And definitely no one was stupid enough to willingly become part of the Moriyama network.

In fact, people risked their lives to get the fuck _out_ of the Moriyama network.

“That is suicide.”

“You’re worried. I’m touched.” Doe’s voice was flat, but the sarcasm came through loud and clear. Neil couldn’t remember the last time someone other than himself had used sarcasm in this house.

“Why?”

Doe shrugged. “Could be lucrative.”

This guy was unbelievable. Confronted with so much ignorance and naivety, it took everything Neil had in him to not just shoot him and be done with this stupidity.

“And what do you want with me? I’m not part of the Butcher’s circle.”

“You’re close enough.”

“Stop being vague. This is not How To Be A Villain 101.”

“Maybe I’d be more inclined to have a conversation if there wasn’t a gun pointed at me.”

“Maybe life’s not fair, ever thought of that?” Neil sneered. “And if you want to become a Moriyama lackey you should get used to having weapons pointed at you. Heads-up: they’re not exactly the warm and fuzzy kind of people.”

“I’ve noticed.” Doe’s voice was annoyingly calm. “They’re also not the talking kind of people. So, I figured…” Andrew nodded at Neil as if that would explain anything.

Not willing to play a guessing game, Neil simply nodded at his gun still pointed at Doe.

Huffing, as if Neil was being the difficult one in this conversation, Doe went on, “I figured you might be able to facilitate contact. But I’m starting to doubt that your presence ever facilitates anything.”

"Straight through the heart." Neil clutched at his chest, the gun not wavering once. "Only figuratively speaking, of course. I doubt there is a weapon or a distance from where you would actually manage to hit my heart."

Doe’s glare was a welcome departure from the blank stare.

"I mean, if looks could kill." Neil made a cutting motion across his throat. "But alas, we all have to work with reality."

“How about this reality: we make a deal. You get me to a Butcher deal that I can bust to seize the Butcher business, and in turn I’ll kill your father. Given your history, that seems like something you might welcome.”

_Kill his father._

As if it was easy. As if hundreds of people hadn’t already tried. And failed.

Nathan was like a cockroach—he survived everything.

“Let me guess, you’ll shoot him? Just how close would he have to be for you to hit him? Three feet? Maybe better two?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Thanks, it’s good to be validated once in a while.”

“Neil? A word?” Of course, his uncle had to interrupt right when it was getting interesting.

Assessing Doe for a moment, Neil went for his most obnoxious British accent. “Be a dear and sit still while the adults talk, will you.”

That was definitely amusement he saw in Doe’s eyes. He was clearly an amateur criminal who was hopelessly overestimating his own abilities. But at least, it seemed, he had a sense of humor.

* * *

**May 29 | 11:51 am GMT+1 | Study, Hatford House, London, England**

Stuart closed the door to his study and turned to Neil standing in front of the window. Neil didn’t like the thought of Doe in his living room, even though rationally he knew that he had no chance against their guards stationed around the room.

“I’ve already informed Theo.”

“Ugh,” Neil let out a long groan, looking at the ceiling. Fucking Theo. “You informed MI5 about Doe’s visit before me. Thanks, uncle. You really know how to make me feel special.”

“It’s not my fault you never pay attention to your phone.”

Moving the gun to his left hand, he pulled his phone from his jeans pocket and saw an emergency message, ‘ _Doe wants deal. Arriving shortly._ ’

Neil pursed his lips, not ready to admit any fault. “Clearly you should know better than to rely on a text when you bring in a wannabe crime lord.”

Stuart’s flat look spoke volumes.

At that moment, Stuart’s phone pinged with an incoming message. Instead of reading the text out loud, Stuart merely turned his screen to Neil—‘ _Doe is a Go._ ’

Ugh.

Of course, they would agree to this. Because they always agreed to anything that might give them even the slightest advantage. Fucking vultures.

Stuart’s phone started ringing, probably their stupid handler giving them further instructions in addition to the written confirmation. Neil turned to the window, tuning out Stuart’s conversation with the head vulture.

Having decisions being made by others about his life was nothing new to Neil. When he had been ten, his mother had finally decided that she would no longer watch her husband alternate between cutting her son into ribbons and training him to take over his crime business one day in the most traumatizing ways Nathan and his men could come up with. So, in a moment of clarity—or insanity—she had taken Neil, stolen a bunch of Nathan’s money, and run.

They had spent their life on the run always looking over their shoulders until, six years later, Nathan had caught up to them. With his mother killed during the surprise attack in a dingy motel room somewhere in Seattle in the US, Neil had barely managed to escape. Bleeding, with no name, no address, no idea where to go, and fucking desperate, he had walked into the nearest police station, praying to whoever was listening that the police was not on Nathan’s payroll.

He could still remember sitting in a run-down office and waiting for someone to do something. _Anything._

After endless hours, the local police had decided to call in the feds. Cue the entrance of an empty suit with high career aspirations but no understanding of Neil’s world. To this guy, Neil had been nothing more than a way to impress his superiors.

Not willing to be a mere pawn in someone’s game, Neil had refused to give the federal agent any information and opted to play clueless. Deemed a useless source, he had landed in federal custody for a couple days before they finally shipped him off to his uncle Stuart Hatford in London, unknowingly handing him over to another mob family.

His mother had always refused to join the Hatford mob but had never given Neil an explanation. The more time Neil had spent with the Hatfords, the better he had understood why—they might not have been as outwardly cruel as the Butcher of Baltimore, but they were just as dangerous.

Deciding that he had experienced enough violence, abuse, and torture to last a lifetime, and hoping his uncle wouldn’t just kill him off, he had given Stuart an ultimatum: Either the Hatfords went legal or he would hand himself over to the feds.

Stuart had called it a mental breakdown. Neil had called it growing up.

(In hindsight, Neil thought, it might've been a combination of both.)

They had argued over the future of the Hatfords for months, Neil not letting up and convincing more and more family members until he’d finally had the majority behind him.

Back then, the Hatfords had already had less than legal contacts within the government, making it easy to get in contact with the right people and slowly moving their business out of the shadows.

Today, they only outwardly operated in the dark. In reality, the Hatfords merely supplied the government with information and insider tips to slowly dismantle organized crime rings in the UK, receiving a check in the mail every month to reimburse them for the ‘significant risks to their lives’ they were taking in the interest of the government.

Working with the government meant they had been assigned a handler from MI5, the domestic counterintelligence and security agency in the UK. So, three years after meeting an empty suit in Seattle, Neil had met another career-hungry empty suit in London. To this day, the guy insisted on calling himself Theo—Neil doubted that was his real name.

Not trusting Theo to act in the Hatfords’ best interest and wanting access to the agency database himself, Neil had pressured the government to make him a Foreign Language Analyst. For the past four years, using yet another name, he had been listed as MI5 officer. Sometimes he even did actual assignments for the agency, but for the most part it merely gave him access to classified information and the MI5 office.

Since he couldn’t stand most of the people there, though, he had agreed to continue going through Theo and promptly handed off the duty of an open line of communication to his uncle, keeping his own interactions with the agency to a minimum.

At least he didn’t have to deal with the international branch—the only agents worse than MI5 were the guys from MI6. All a bunch of wannabe James Bonds with no concept of the violence in this world and no understanding of looking death in the eye and walking away alive.

“We will agree to the deal,” Stuart spoke up from behind Neil, “MI5 thinks this might be a prime opportunity to bust Nathan’s part of the Moriyama business. They also hope to convict Doe since no agency had been able to get a crime to stick.”

Turning away from the window, Neil narrowed his eyes at Stuart. “Why do they care. Last time I checked MI5 didn’t have jurisdiction in the US.”

“I asked the same thing, but apparently some of the data Doe had stolen from the NSA also pertained to the UK. It sounded like they’re holding a grudge.” Stuart shrugged, as if that was explanation enough. “Plus, MI5 wouldn’t be the ones operating in the US. If we get this to a bust of Nathan and Doe, the plan is that the feds on the ground will be from the DEA.”

“Drug Enforcement? Seriously? And what happens if it’s a weapons deal? Or whatever Nathan happens to come across?”

“Maybe they’ll bring in the FBI?”

Neil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He counted to ten in English, Spanish and French, before opening his eyes again.

He had fought to get away from the mob business. He did not like the idea of stepping back into the middle of it with this wannabe crime lord Doe. Neil also wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that Doe thought that he could be so easily manipulated simply by offering Nathan’s death.

Counting to ten in Russian and Mandarin to win some time, he tried to think of a way out of this mess.

It didn’t work.

Accepting his fate, he straightened his shoulders and walked out of the room with no further comment. In the living room, Doe hadn't moved an inch. He was watching the guards closely, though, as if assessing whether he could take them.

Overestimating amateur, indeed.

“Good news, we have a deal,” Neil announced brightly, Doe's gun still lowered at his side. “We will contact you. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

Doe slowly got up and, just as he passed Neil, had the audacity to throw him a mocking two-finger salute.

Asshole.

Neil did not move until he got confirmation that Doe had left the premises. He’ll have to figure out how to go about this ‘deal’—a charade, truly—in a way where they would keep Doe close enough to avoid outside scrutiny from the Moriyamas, but not too close lest Doe understood what was really going on.

Ugh.

“Stop whining, this is a good thing.”

Neil turned to his uncle with absolute incredulity. Realizing that Stuart was being serious, Neil just groaned louder.

* * *

**May 29 | 4:05 pm GMT+1 | Study, Hatford House, London, England**

“ _We have informed Interpol, so there shouldn’t be any interference. The entire operation has the highest security clearance with a strict need-to-know basis, as always._ ”

Theo’s voice had been droning on for the past 20 minutes, while Neil and Stuart together with Emma and George Jr.—both cousins of Neil and seconds in command at the Hatford family—sat around the phone in Stuart’s study.

“ _Interpol has notified the DEA in the United States to ensure authorization to investigate and legitimate any arrest should the chance arise._ ”

“I guess being able to arrest that idiot at the end of this ordeal is at least something,” Neil quipped, his only contribution to the call so far.

Stuart threw him an exasperated look, the others ignored him completely. Not for the first time, Neil rolled his eyes at his family’s lack of humor.

“ _We have to_ _minimize the risk of the Moriyamas tracking any movements between your property and a secondary location to meet with Doe. Therefore, it has been decided that you will inform Doe through your own channels that he will stay at your house for the time being._ ”

Wait, what?

“ _That should also make it easier to keep a close eye on him.”_

“Back up, Theodora the Explorer, I don’t remember agreeing to Doe moving into our house.”

Why would they give him access to their home? They had managed to keep the blueprints of the house a secret for generations. More importantly, he didn't feel like giving Doe the opportunity to wiretap his own home.

For once, the others seemed equally uncomfortable with MI5’s decision.

Stuart even suggested, “Maybe one of our safe houses in the city would be better suited.”

“ _We want to avoid any chance of the Moriyamas noticing Doe being in the city. We also foresee this taking a while until an appropriately large deal takes place within the Butcher business, so an apartment in the city bears the risk of cabin fever and we don’t know how far we can trust Doe to stay where we want him. Your large property should give all of you plenty of room to establish a partnership, extract as much information from him as possible, and not be seen while doing so._ ”

“Are you a fucking recording? Why do you always talk as if your holding a speech.” Neil leaned further toward the phone. “Also, next time you make a decision like this, how about checking with us beforehand. Us, you know, your business partners.” Neil did not bother to lessen the edge in his voice, wanting dickface to know that he was crossing a line.

“ _We will take that into consideration, Mr. Hatford._ ”

Neil threw up his hands. Fucking Theo.

They ended the call shortly after but stayed seated to wrap their heads around the bombshell Theo McFuckton had just dropped on them.

“What an ass. I can’t believe they’re renting out our home like it’s some kind of minute hotel for criminals.”

Emma was usually pretty annoying, but in that moment, Neil found himself agreeing with her.

Stuart, ever the peacemaker, tried to bring the conversation back to a more productive topic. “We’ll need to get the house ready for Doe. Any suggestions which room he should stay in?”

Three heads turned to Neil.

Looking at the ceiling and taking a deep breath, Neil reminded himself that this is what he had chosen. If he said it often enough maybe it would drown out the persistent voice in his head telling him that, in truth, he had never had any choice in any of this.

* * *

**May 30 | 7:32 pm GMT+1 | Living room, Hatford House, London, England**

Neil was lounging on the couch, soaking in what little light from the setting sun made it into the room through the glass front behind him. A handful of family members were sitting outside on the deck on the other side of the windows, their voices muffled by the glass.

Looking around, Neil put down the book he had been trying to read but couldn’t focus on. The couch was easily Neil’s favorite spot in the entire house. It was closely followed by the back part of the garden and his room, both places where people knew not to bother him.

The couch, with its odd red and yellow pattern, was so soft that you almost sunk into it when sitting down, making it the most comfortable piece of furniture in the house. Over the couch table, two massive chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling. They consisted of an assortment of weird shapes that barely let any light escape, rendering them essentially useless in lighting the room. Thankfully, the family had decided a while ago that ‘dark and gloomy’ was too on-the-nose for a mob family, so they installed small spotlights in every corner of the house, illuminating it in a warm light.

The armchair Neil had shot during Doe’s visit had already been replaced last night on Stuart’s orders. The couch table in the middle of the room was back to its usual state, once more covered in paperback books and magazines rather than disassembled gun parts.

The TV, mounted on the wall opposite the windows and above what had been a half-assed attempt by Emma to build a fireplace after reading a magazine on self-made home decoration before moving on to creating absurdly terrible paintings of their various family members, was turned off, making the room feel like the calm eye of a storm.

Upstairs, their men were already preparing Doe’s room for his arrival in two days, and next door, the kitchen was getting stocked. In addition to their regular guards on the grounds, Stuart had arranged for more men to arrive tomorrow to safeguard certain areas against prying eyes.

This morning, they had had another call with MI5. For once, Theo had been joined by two of his colleagues. Neil knew them from his visits to the agency headquarters—all of them were crybabies, if you asked Neil. He had pulled a knife on them once and instead of standing their ground, they had run off to get their supervisor. _Pathetic._

The call had, unsurprisingly, been a complete waste of their time with no new information, a repeat of very few confirmed facts and a lot of old rumors and hear-say about Doe.

According to their records, Andrew Doe, 25, had started college in Maryland at 18, majoring in criminal justice, and been recruited by the NSA right after graduation. One year later, and for no apparent reason, Doe had decided to take advantage of his access to secret government data and sold it to the highest bidder, endearing him to pretty much every government and secret service agency around the world.

In the years since that completely whacky decision, Doe had—to the surprise of pretty much anyone in the business—managed to not get killed or caught, and instead made a name for himself. No one was 100% sure what he actually did—this is where the rumors came into play—but most stories were about moving large volumes of all kinds of objects: drugs, weapons, organs. Apparently, Doe didn’t care what he transported as long as he got paid.

Neil wasn’t sure if he appreciated that kind of ruthless disregard for decency or despised it. What he did know, though, was that Doe’s record showed barely any violence from the man himself which made no sense. What kind of crime lord behavior was this where the monstrous criminal never killed anyone? Not even a little torture or maiming?

Weird.

What was most concerning, though, was that Neil couldn’t find any prove that the vast majority of Doe’s crimes had ever happened. The Hatfords had listened into their network but couldn’t find anyone who had actually dealt with Doe. That shouldn’t be possible and yet, they were about to house a worldwide wanted criminal that, apparently, had never committed a single crime aside from his very first one of selling government secrets and thus treason against the United States. A crime of which, at closer inspection, also no traces could be found. Anywhere with anyone Neil even remotely knew.

He wondered what kind of Houdini shit this was where Doe managed to keep everything about himself so under lock and key that not a single business partner was ready to talk about him. The Butcher could learn a thing or two from Doe with how pathetically publicized he carried his crimes into the crime world. Hell, even the Hatfords could learn something from the complete lack of evidence Doe had against himself.

Scrolling through the action plan from MI5 on his phone, Neil didn’t even know what to think. It was basically _‘let Doe move in, find out date for Butcher deal, bust the deal, put Nathan Wesninski and Andrew Doe in jail._ ’

Easy as that. No contingency plans or fallbacks.

How could anything possibly go wrong?

* * *

**June 1 | 2:24 pm GMT+1 | Study, Hatford House, London, England**

On the day of Doe’s arrival, Neil had given up on voicing his concerns about this entire operation and instead accepted his fate. Apparently, no one cared about the possibility of one of his father’s men catching wind of this. Or of someone involved snitching or selling them out. Or of MI5 messing up during the bust and the Moriyamas finding out about it before they could use any intel to prosecute them.

If they all ended up dead, at least Neil could always say ‘I told you so’ to the vultures at the agency and his naïve family.

Unwilling to run into Doe like an awkward welcome committee, Neil was sitting out of sight from the front door in his uncle’s study, once more going over what little information they had on the guy. He had left the door slightly ajar, so he was able to listen as Doe walked into the entrance hall with three of their men. As far as Neil knew, they had picked him up at a meeting point in London and driven him out to the suburbs, making sure no one was following to avoid an ambush on their house. Neil figured it was the same procedure as the last time when Doe had showed up here three days ago.

Stuart was not at home, so Doe was escorted upstairs to his room without further comment. Neil couldn’t hear any conversation from the men as they passed the study and walked toward the stairs. He supposed that made sense after meeting Doe. While Neil would’ve gone for the taunting-until-you-get-a-reaction-and-someone-slips-up strategy, Doe was clearly more the stay-silent-and-look-for-weaknesses kind of man. Neil was almost looking forward to watching Doe slowly lose his stoic exterior when confronted with an established crime operation like the Hatfords.

The first step would be Doe’s room. George was an idiot even on a good day, but Neil had to admit that he was fucking crafty when it came to tapping rooms—he had truly outdone himself with Doe’s room by installing 22 bugs. Aside from rattling Doe, they wanted to catch any conversation he might have with his base. That being said, Neil suspected that after the first ten bugs, George just wanted to see how many he could hide in a single room. Neil had found 17 on the first go, the rest after a more thorough check. But he was already familiar with George's favorite spots. If Doe found more than five, he'd be impressed.

Next, while they would wait to hear about a Butcher deal, Neil would watch Doe unravel and, most importantly, figure out his true intentions—the guy didn’t seem like someone to go off the rails just for money and fame. He also didn’t seem like the monster the rumors made him out to be, but Neil was willing to hold off on that judgment call a bit longer. Maybe Neil would share some of the details from the Butcher’s daily business—some torture here, some making dead bodies disappear there—just to see how Doe would handle it. Maybe he would break down, maybe he would run.

Either way, before this charade would come to an end, Neil would figure out how this wannabe criminal had managed to accumulate his resume in under three years without any traceable evidence.

Stuart thought it was worrisome, Neil found it fascinating. (Which Stuart also thought was worrisome.)

And if nothing else, Doe had seemed to have the potential to be entertaining. If not voluntarily, Neil could still make fun of him to entertain himself. Plus, if this deal worked out—as unlikely as it was—Nathan would end up killed or in jail.

Maybe, Neil thought, Doe hadn't been wrong after all when he had counted on Neil being easily manipulated by dangling Nathan’s death over his head.

_Whatever._

If it got him what he wanted, he wasn’t about to complain just because some idiot thought he was pulling one over Neil. Especially since he'd get to enjoy seeing Doe’s face when he would ultimately get arrested.

Listening to the footsteps moving upstairs, Neil grinned to himself. Doe had no idea what he had gotten himself into.

After giving the guy another ten minutes to look at his room, Neil finally followed him upstairs.

Time to say hello.


	2. Chapter 2—Andrew

> **curiosity**
> 
> _noun_ | need to know or learn something; also: reason for inability to stay away from something or someone

* * *

**June 1 | 2:29 pm GMT+1 | Hallway, Hatford House, London, England**

The guy walking in front of Andrew was bulky with a buzz cut and receding hairline. Silently, they crossed the dark hardwood floor from the front door and up the spiral staircase with its wrought iron banister that served as the focal point of the house. Andrew had to admit that the high ceiling on the first floor, bright walls and grand staircase made for an impressive open-space entrance.

During his last visit, he had passed the stairs and continued further into the house toward the back. Now, walking upstairs, he saw that the large light fixture hanging down the middle of the spiraling staircase on the ground floor continued all the way to the top, seemingly lighting up every floor. In addition, he noticed small spotlights dotted across the ceiling and alongside the walls.

It wasn’t as if Andrew had expected dark hallways with flickering candlelight and muffled screams coming from the basement, but this house was significantly brighter and more spacious than any of the other houses of criminals he’d managed to get into.

That being said, he could’ve done without the obnoxiously large pots overflowing with green plants on every floor or the large canvases with modern, sometimes very abstract art lining the walls. Passing another painting, he couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be. (Maybe a banana?)

No member of the Hatford family seemed to be present, so he was left watching the closed doors on every floor, preventing him from better matching the blueprints they had received two days ago against the actual layout of the house. Letting his eyes take in all of the details around him, already scanning for cameras, he could tell that the blueprints had gotten most things wrong. Andrew wasn’t surprised. After all, what mob family would let blueprints of their HQ fall into the hands of their adversaries?

What had surprised him, though, was their suggestion to let him move in. At most, he had expected them to agree to a handful of meetings at a safe location. If Andrew was honest, he thought the Hatfords’ decision was wildly stupid but, since it gave him access to the home of one of the most influential crime families in Europe, he wasn’t about to point that out to them.

Another strange thing was their security. In addition to the knives and gun on his body, he was carrying two duffle bags filled with a mix of clothes and weapons. When they had picked him up in the same parking garage as last time, they had merely looked inside his bags and done a quick scan with a device that kept beeping but didn’t sound an alarm. They hadn’t even searched his person.

These idiots probably thought they had the upper hand.

Andrew wanted to scoff at their arrogance but knew that he shouldn’t underestimate them. They were making it really hard, though.

Since he usually kept all geo data on his phone turned off, Andrew had given his team at home the pick-up location, but halfway through the one-hour drive, the Hatford men had managed to lose their tail. Before his trip to the UK, Kevin had tried to give him a list of possible escape routes, explaining the intricacies of London but Andrew had made it a point not to listen. Of course, his brain had betrayed him, so Kevin’s anxious, urgent voice had been running on a loop in his head throughout the drive, telling him how far he would be from the Themse and Westminster Abbey and which side streets had dead ends.

_“Just don’t get in their car if it doesn’t feel safe. It’s much harder to get out of a car than to make an escape on the open road.”_

No shit, Sherlock. Sometimes Kevin was such an idiot. Nothing had felt safe for almost three years at this point. His _own apartment_ hadn’t felt safe for almost three years. A car ride with a bunch of murderous mobsters wouldn’t change that.

Sometimes he got angry at Kevin’s naivety before reminding himself that he didn’t care whether Kevin got it. Whether his entire life was a shit show. The only thing that mattered was that Andrew would end this nightmare once and for all. He had promised the spineless ass that he would keep him safe and Andrew would not go back on his word.

Finally taking out the Moriyamas, starting with the Butcher and then working their way up from the inside, would be the end of it.

Why he kept taking in sob stories, Andrew didn’t know. His brother used to be a scared drug addict. His cousin Nicky a coward abiding to his abusive father’s every word. And then Kevin, a walking tragedy if he’d ever seen one.

How anyone had ever thought Kevin would make good mobster material, Andrew had no idea. Then again, physical and mental abuse did strange things to human beings. Andrew would know.

With Kevin, it had resulted in a near constant state of fear. Even now, more than six years after Kevin had managed to escape the Moriyamas, he was jumping at every shadow. Andrew still didn’t know how Kevin had managed to find the courage to run off after a Moriyama car had crashed during a transfer of Kevin from one Moriyama site to another. He had gone to the police and let himself be taken into federal protection, somehow ending up with his father David Wymack.

Apparently, Kevin and Nathaniel Wesninski, or Neil Hatford, now, had met when they had both been children. Unsurprising given their roles as property of the Moriyama organization.

Andrew supposed, they also shared their escape from the Moriyamas. Hatford’s mother Mary had famously taken him when he was a child, stolen what money she could get her hands on, and run away from the largest mafia family in the States. There were numerous rumors about what happened to them afterwards. Most said, the Butcher caught up to them a couple years later, killed his wife and taken his son.

How Nathaniel had escaped, no one knew.

What everyone knew, however, was that four years ago, Nathaniel had stepped onto the world stage of organized crime as Neil Hatford and the new head of the Hatford mob. Andrew wasn’t sure where Stuart fit in when Neil Hatford was supposedly the head of this family, but he intended to find out.

Arriving at the top of the stairs on the third floor, he could see four doors made of dark wood, all of them closed. One was in the wall to his left, two were located next to each other in the wall across from him and the fourth was opposite to the first door on the other side of the staircase. The house seemed to be set up in a way where the left side mirrored the right—probably the only thing the blueprints had gotten right.

Opening the third door, the guy left with no further comment once Andrew had stepped into the room that had been assigned to him. Closing the dark wooden door behind him and turning the old-fashioned iron key to click the lock into place, he walked further into the lavishly furnished room—it matched the mix of posh, old-fashioned and comfortable furniture and décor he had noticed throughout the rest of the house.

In front of him was a king-sized bed with a dark wooden frame. It was covered by a mountain of pillows and a thick blanket, all in bright white. The head of the bed stood against the wall to his left, sharing a wall with the room next door. Bedside tables made of the same dark wood as the bedframe stood on each side of the bed with black lamps hanging over them. They were hung from the ceiling—hanging lamps and chandeliers seemed to be a thing in this house. These ones were made of black metal wires, casting warm light in obscure patterns against the wall and ceiling.

Across from him he could see floor-to-ceiling windows with heavy, light beige curtains, matching the carpet that covered most of the floor. Through gaps in the curtains, he could make out sliding doors that led to what seemed to be a balcony. Blueprint-wise, Andrew figured the balcony area corresponded at least in part to the sunroom on the first floor where he had been three days ago, waiting for the Hatfords to accept his proposal.

He dropped his two duffle bags on the end of the bed and turned around once, assessing the rest of the room. Spotlights were spread across the ceiling, again lighting up every corner. Next to the entrance door was a large wardrobe matching the bed and bedside tables. Opposite from the bed, a door led to what seemed to be a bathroom—thank fuck that he wouldn’t have to share facilities with anyone.

Walking across the beige carpet, he stepped into the bathroom, made smaller by the sloping roof on the far side. To his right was a bathtub, a glass panel protecting the rest of the room against any spray. Across from the door was a simple toilet and to his left was a sink embedded into a cupboard stretching along the entire side of the bathroom. It had several drawers—mostly empty as Andrew quickly found out. The whole bathroom was a shining white, including the square carpet in the middle of the room. Over the sink was a window looking in the same direction as the ones in the main room, overlooking a large garden with trees and seating areas strewn about. Next to the window, the wall was covered by a mirror, clearly custom fitted to accommodate the sloping roof.

Returning to the main room, he walked over to the sliding doors that led to the balcony, passing a cluster of pots of plants on his right. To his annoyance, some of those palm tree-like _things_ turned out to be taller than him.

Moving the curtain out of the way to see the empty balcony, he checked the door handle—locked. Outside he could see that this room shared the balcony with the room next to his. He wondered who lived there. He’d learned from his British liaison that rooms in mansions tended to get smaller with each floor, usually with the staff living on the top floor. So this over-the-top room with its window front, fancy bathroom and massive bed was probably the Hatfords’ idea of an insult to Andrew.

Little did they know it was easily the nicest room he’d ever stayed in.

Scoffing at the Hatfords’ weak attempt at disrespecting Andrew, he focused back on the balcony doors and checked the lock to make sure it couldn’t be opened from the outside without his knowledge. Next, he closed the curtains—if he couldn’t spy on his neighbors, neither would they.

He turned back to the room and went over to his duffle bags, still waiting on top of the cloud that was going to be his bed for the next couple weeks. Taking out a scanning device similar to the one the guards had used on his bags, he started looking for microphones and other devices the Hatfords might’ve installed in his rooms.

After three increasingly thorough sweeps he had found eight mikes hidden in places ranging from astonishingly obvious (inside the bedside lamp—really?) to surprisingly competently hidden. Finding the one in the palm tree had been luck helped by his height. A taller person probably wouldn’t have noticed it.

Thankfully, he had not found any cameras. Just the thought of being watched by a bunch of strangers while he changed clothes or slept made his skin crawl.

He decided to postpone a digital check of the security system via his laptop for later in favor of exploring the rest of the house. Andrew doubted it would take him long to crack their security system. Still, he wanted to take his time to make sure he wouldn’t miss any traps because of carelessness.

Opening the door, Andrew stopped short—Neil Hatford was leaning against the banister of the staircase opposite from his door.

He'd noticed Hatford's wiry strength during their first, and unsuccessful, encounter. While the running clothes had accentuated his slender frame, today’s washed-out shirt and formless jeans almost swallowed him, obscuring his figure. Hatford’s eyes were quickly scanning over Andrew. They were an ice blue, a color that looked entirely fake if you asked Andrew, framed by long lashes. His hair was a dark red curly mess on top of his head. The effect was both devastating and extremely annoying in Andrew’s objective opinion.

In the bright light of the hallway, he could see a fine scar, old with faded edges, that was cutting through the side of Hatford’s right cheek. It looked as if someone had gotten in a lucky swipe during a knife fight and matched the photos Andrew had seen during his research before coming here. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have been surprised by Hatford’s unpredictable fighting style. Clearly, the guy was no stranger to close-range fighting.

After another moment of tense silence between them, Hatford pushed away from the banister and stepped closer.

"Took you long enough."

His voice was neutral, making it difficult to pinpoint his mood. Based on the hostility three days ago, Andrew figured that Stuart had been the driving force to accept his offer. If Hatford was still against this, he would have to be extremely careful around the Butcher's son.

If Andrew was honest, he had expected him to be more enthusiastic about getting rid of his father. Then again, Andrew couldn't fault him for his paranoia and mistrust. After all, it was 100% justified.

“Wesninski.”

Hatford grimaced at the name.

“Not a fan of your own name?”

“Not a fan of the namesake,” Hatford said, sharply.

Andrew inclined his head. Provoking Hatford had been more impulse than intention.

“Hatford.”

“Neil, preferably. I’m not really a fan of last names in general.”

Raising his eyebrows, Andrew said, “Seems like you’re not a fan of first names either.” After all, it was common knowledge that ‘Neil’ was not his real name.

For a beat, Hatford—Neil—just blinked at Andrew.

“That actually hit close to home,” Neil said, a hint of amusement suddenly in his voice. “Much closer than I thought you could manage.”

_Did he just–_

Andrew glared at the asshole.

“Because of your aim, you kno–“

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Oh good, I just wanted to make sure.”

It had clearly been a taunt but Andrew could tell that it was missing its edge. If he wasn’t mistaken, it almost seemed as if Neil was offering something akin to a truce.

Interesting.

“Andrew,” he finally offered in return, not trusting the truce but willing to play along for the time being.

With a nod, Neil turned around and walked toward the stairs, leaving it up to Andrew to follow.

“How many did you find?” Neil asked over his shoulder, traces of curiosity in his voice.

“Eight.” Figuring Neil was talking about the bugs in his room, Andrew saw no point in lying. He rarely did.

“Not bad.” Neil nodded slowly. “Which one did you find first? The lamp one, right?”

“Yeah.” If this guy wanted to talk about their security measures, Andrew wasn't going to stop him.

“That is always the first one people find. It's rather cliché, isn’t it?” Neil threw him a quick look as he walked past the potted plant on the second floor, continuing down the stairs. Shrugging, he went on, “Some people stop looking for more after they found one. As if satisfied by the knowledge that they must’ve outsmarted us.”

Andrew had to admit that was not as stupid as he had thought.

“Did you find the one in the plant?”

“Hm.” Where was Neil going with this?

“Yeah, makes sense. You're too short not to notice it.”

Staring at the asshole walking ahead of him, Andrew wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or humored—after all, Neil was barely taller than him.

They reached the ground floor and turned right, walking into the sunroom where, three days ago, Neil had shot at him. Or, more accurately, at his chair. Andrew had the feeling that this trigger-happy ass had known exactly what he was doing.

“How about the one in the light switch?”

That made Andrew pause. There hadn't been any mikes in the light switches. Or in the sockets. Andrew had checked. Twice. Furrowing his brows, Andrew wondered if Neil was just trying to throw him off.

At the silence, Neil turned around and, seeing Andrew's face, let a delighted smirk overtake his face. It was a sharp and dangerous thing, like the serrated edges of a blade that promised agony if you weren’t careful. Neil’s demeanor spoke volumes, the message loud and clear—this was a den of wolves and Andrew was the sheep that had wandered in.

He wasn’t surprised that Neil didn’t take him seriously—after almost three years of constantly being underestimated, Andrew was familiar with the game. Still, he would have to make sure they recognized him as an equal. Preferably sooner rather than later.

“Smug is not a good look,” Andrew growled only to have Neil’s smirk stretch wider with glee.

“Don't worry, better criminals than you have failed to find that one,” Neil said brightly, “but hey, that makes it nine, eh? Getting better!”

Neil opened one of the doors leading to a patio overlooking the garden Andrew had seen from above. With a last look at Andrew and an exaggerated two-finger salute, he was out the door, walking off across the lawn, not paying attention to the people milling about outside.

* * *

**June 1 | 10:37 pm GMT+1 | Andrew’s room, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew was sitting on the end of his bed, his feet dangling in the air just above the floor. Taking deep, slow breaths, he let the silence of the room calm him down.

Andrew had officially survived his first day in the house of an actual mob family.

So far, he had not been shot, poisoned or otherwise killed. In fact, the day had been entirely uneventful, with most of the afternoon spent lounging about, not doing anything particularly productive. He had tried to explore the house, but they had men stationed in almost every corner, preventing Andrew from snooping.

Dinner had been something of a happening with a lot more Hatfords showing up. It almost seemed as if the only reason for their presence was to get a look at Andrew. As if he was an animal in a zoo.

They had all been seated around a long table in a large dining room, illuminated by weirdly shaped chandeliers hanging over the table. Honestly, what was it with the strange lamps in this house?

The food had been better than he’d expected. Neil, sitting opposite from him, had noticed his relief—Andrew wasn’t sure how—and grinned at him knowingly.

“ _What, did you expect us to eat haggis, neeps, and tatties with whisky sauce every night?_ ”

Giving him a flat look, Andrew hadn’t been about to tell Neil that he had been right. Or that he hadn’t recognized half the words Neil had used.

Thankfully, Stuart had cut in and explained that Neil preferred international food, so they tended to eat a mix of different cuisines. Looking back at Neil, Andrew had found the other man still watching him intently.

If Neil wanted to rattle Andrew, it wasn’t working.

It _wasn’t_.

Aside from a handful of taunting comments and scrutinizing looks, Neil had been surprisingly laid-back all day during the handful of times they had run into each other. The hostility from the first meeting was seemingly gone.

Andrew didn’t understand where the change in attitude had come from. Had he missed something? Did they know something he didn’t? As far as he knew, he was the one orchestrating a massive operation, not Neil Hatford.

The relaxed mood in the house went so far that he sometimes had to actively remind himself why he was here. These people were the real deal and he couldn’t trust them. According to their sources, the Hatfords had their fingers in everything in the UK and large parts of Europe. It went so far that they had the government on their payroll. They hadn’t been able to pinpoint who exactly was working with the Hatfords, but traces of communication—traces he had found himself—went all the way to the highest levels of the UK government.

Dragging his hand over his face before stretching his arms over his head, Andrew tried to shake off the day’s tension. He decided he was safe enough for the moment, since killing him in his sleep seemed excessive when the Hatfords could just do it at any point throughout the day.

Andrew couldn’t remember the last time he had been in a room with a lock and no imminent threat.

Taking out this phone, he sent an encrypted message to Renee using their usual jumbled mess of coding phrases and random abbreviations they had been using for years.

> [TODAY]
> 
> A, 10:41 pm | ANP

‘Aaron, Nicky?’

Not ten seconds later, his phone vibrated with a response.

> R, 10:41 pm | T

‘Yes’, meaning Aaron and Nicky were safe.

Taking another deep breath, Andrew quickly went through the preset questions and wrapped up the back-and-forth with Renee. Putting the phone down on the bed next to him, he closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself why he was doing this. Why being here was _important_.

He could still see Wymack walking into their team’s conference room with Kevin hiding behind him six years ago. Andrew had been standing against the furthest wall, as per usual not participating in any of the team’s chaotic gossiping.

Officially, he had been a freshman in college.

Unofficially, it had been half a year since he had graduated college on a government scholarship and formed one of the NSA’s top-secret hacking units within the Office of Tailored Access Operations.

Andrew and his colleague Renee were part of the data acquisition division of David Wymack, putting them in the Signals Intelligence Directorate. There weren’t many things Andrew was proud of in his life, but his little unit-of-two was one of them.

It had shortly been discussed to put Andrew in counterintelligence within the Q Directorate but thankfully Wymack had stepped in and requested Andrew be placed in his division. Working in TAO within S3 as part of SID, Andrew didn’t understand how anyone could want to work anywhere else.

S2 was a bore and S1 was a joke, and the other directorates were even worse.

Everyone knew that.

From the start, he had made sure to minimize contact with his colleagues—out of all of them, Renee was the only person he could stand talking to on a regular basis. Luckily there wasn’t much talking required in his field of work. Instead, they tended to spend their days surrounded by screens in a temperature-controlled room in the NSA headquarters at Fort Meade.

They both had been recruited to the NSA at a young age. Personally, he thought the fact that, at twelve years old, he had cracked a government system to ‘hide’ illegal files on the computer of his foster brother Drake while he had been deployed to Afghanistan was much more impressive than Renee cracking a bunch of Las Vegas casino machines to let every casino goer win. Then again, Andrew’s plan had backfired spectacularly when Drake had been discharged from the military without going to jail and moved back in with his parents and Andrew. Drake had become even more aggressive in his abuse and Andrew had started to spiral, developing a bunch of unhealthy coping mechanisms, some of which he was still dealing with.

But the stunt also had, unbeknownst to Andrew at the time, put him on the NSA’s radar. The next time they had been able to track him down, they had recruited him into their organization—he had been 14 years old and tried to crack the New York Stock Exchange. He hadn’t actually thought he would be able to do it, but he hadn’t known any other way to get away from Drake other than by getting arrested.

“ _Shut up, everyone._ ” Wymack’s gruff voice had brought the conversations in the room to a sudden halt. “ _This is Kevin, he’ll be joining us as administrative support._ ”

Kevin, tall and lanky with his messy black hair and green eyes, seemed as if he was trying to disappear behind Wymack. His shoulders had been hunched and his eyes had roamed all over the room, not settling on anything or anyone for too long.

Six years. Six years since he’d told Kevin to stop being twitchy. Six years since he’d told Kevin that he was safe now. Because to Andrew, this building, these rooms, these people had always meant safety.

And he'd hated that Kevin had doubted them—doubted _Andrew_.

_“You’re safe, stop being annoying.”_

_“You don’t know that. What if they find out where I am?”_

‘They’ being the Moriyamas. The crime family Kevin had been born into and, if you asked anyone in the Moriyama network, had been a property of for all his life.

“ _They won’t. And if there is so much as a trace of them knowing where you are, we will know._ ” Andrew knew that his bored voice had not betrayed his complete and utter conviction, but he had meant every word. “ _Renee and I will know it._ ”

They had struck up a deal. Andrew would look after Kevin. In turn, Kevin had promised him that he would find something interesting outside of Andrew’s office. The sheer earnestness in Kevin’s thin voice had almost made Andrew laugh in his face. Andrew had fought hard to have this office. This space of safety. If Kevin couldn’t understand the importance of that—despite growing up as property of a mob family, despite knowing what it meant to be unsafe in your own home—then Andrew wouldn’t waste any of his time explaining it to him.

And even though Kevin’s part of the deal was as empty and meaningless as it could be, Andrew had still held up his promise.

And when he had found traces three years later, traces of the Moriyamas having stumbled upon a photo of Kevin in a social media post, Andrew stood by his promise. Kevin would be safe.

Today, sitting in a mobster house in the UK, Andrew didn’t regret his decision. Because he didn’t believe in regret.

He let himself fall back onto the mattress, staring up at the white ceiling. Placing his hands on his stomach, he focused on his breathing to stay in the here and now, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate, relentlessly pulling up memories from the last couple years.

He remembered how he had already made up his mind by the time he had walked into Wymack’s office to tell him about the Moriyamas’ lucky discovery. Wymack had been angry, Renee had tried to come up with an alternative, and the NSA had wanted to find another coding agent. But Andrew had been sure.

In the end, everyone had followed his plan.

Andrew would go undercover, supposedly steal NSA data and sell it on the black market, build a reputation in the world of organized crime and create a network to gain access to the houses and security systems of as many suspects as possible until they would be able to identify a path to infiltrate and ultimately take down the Moriyama mob.

Ever since that day three years ago, his life had been one shit show after another. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept for more than four hours at a time. Or without having a gun under his pillow and knives strapped to every possible part of his body.

He had also installed more microphones and wiretaps and had cracked more security systems and file logs of high-ranking criminals than he could count—which, after all, had been the whole reason to send him undercover rather than someone from the roster of field agents at the FBI.

Always looking for a connection to the Moriyamas.

Always waiting for the moment when this mission would finally pay off.

Not wanting to put his family—Aaron now a doctor with the Navy and Nicky a communication officer at the NSA—at risk, they had even spread the ridiculous rumor that Andrew had shot Aaron. Wymack had said the story was too outlandish to be believable, and Andrew had secretly agreed, but so far no one had tried to use Aaron against Andrew. Plus, he had figured that people thinking he was a psychotic killer with no integrity and no conscience might facilitate his entrance into the world of organized crime. After all, what kind of person would shoot their own family?

After several underhandedly publicized deals with various crime rings—all either fake or heavily guarded by his colleagues at the FBI, they had finally tracked down communication between the Moriyamas and the so-called Butcher of Baltimore. That had made the Butcher their new primary target in order to get their hands on the Moriyamas.

But after several failed attempts of contacting the Butcher’s people, they had been ready to move on—until Kevin had let the name ‘Neil Hatford’ drop from his lips.

And just like that, Andrew was sitting in fucking London and making deals with the long-removed son of the Butcher, pulling at straws so the last years of his pathetic existence, not to mention millions in government funds, wouldn’t be a complete waste.

At least his journey to the UK had worked out as planned. They had informed Interpol that one of their agents would be entering the UK. In turn, Interpol had provided the necessary information to their international colleagues at MI6—on a strict need-to-know basis and with the highest security clearance. The last thing Andrew needed was Andrew Doe, internationally wanted criminal, being picked up by some random airport border control agent. Or, the Hatfords finding out about Andrew’s mission through their government contacts.

Blinking against the spotlights in the ceiling, he decided that slow progress was still better than the months of complete stagnancy of late. With a sigh, Andrew pushed himself up into a sitting position to look around the brightly lit room.

Tired but filled with too much nervous energy, he went about checking the room for bugs and transmitters for the eighth time today, just to be sure he hadn’t missed anything.

If he checked the light switches several times without finding anything, no one had to know.

* * *

**June 2 | 9:47 am GMT+1 | Kitchen, Hatford House, London, England**

In the morning, Andrew had made it all the way into the basement on another snooping attempt, glimpsing the swimming pool on the far side of the house, when Neil had found him. He had promptly steered Andrew to the kitchen where a small breakfast buffet had been waiting for them on the kitchen counter.

Suppressing a yawn, Andrew had started to collect an assortment of food items he recognized, giving the stranger looking options a wide berth. Even though Andrew was used to short nights at this point, sleeping in new surroundings and waking up and reaching for the gun under his pillow at every noise, was still stressful every time. Now, in broad daylight and with knives strapped to his forearms, thigh and ankle, Andrew felt slightly less on edge.

Breakfast had been a quiet affair with Neil apparently lost in thought and not in the mood for the taunts and comments that Andrew had started to associate with him. Not that Andrew minded. He wasn’t even sure why Neil had stayed with him in the kitchen in the first place.

Once Neil had finished his fruit salad while Andrew had still been making his way through a stack of waffles, he'd even told Andrew to come to the garden later.

With narrowed eyes, Andrew watched Neil leave the room and turn toward the patio door. Neil’s hostility from their first encounter was still absent.

Strange.

After finding his way from the kitchen to the deck area—some woman with mousy brown hair and boring blue eyes had pointed out to him yesterday that it was _not_ a patio even though she couldn’t actually explain why—Andrew overlooked the large garden with its tall trees lining each side and preventing any neighbors from looking onto the Hatford property.

Considering how extremely private and secretive the Hatfords were, Andrew wondered once again at how easily he had gained access to their inner circle, the rocky start notwithstanding.

He wasn’t sure why he had even listened to Wymack’s idea that “ _it’ll look more convincing if you go for the crime lord routine_ ”. Andrew should’ve just trusted his instincts and gone directly through their contacts in the UK.

Oh well.

Passing garden tables, chairs, potted plants and lanterns, he walked down the three stone steps and stepped onto the perfectly cut green grass. As soon as he reached the middle of the lawn, he took out his phone to call Nicky, using a secure line.

“Hey hey! How is London?” Meaning, ‘ _did everything go well’._ Probably. Nicky wasn’t good with speaking in code.

“It’s okay.” ‘ _Yes’._

“Great, did you ride the London Eye? I heard that’s a huge Ferris wheel.”

For a moment Andrew tried to make sense of the words before inwardly rolling his eyes. Of course, Nicky wouldn’t be able to stick to the official protocol. Andrew decided that it was unlikely that his cousin would return to the list of preset coded questions, so he didn’t bother, either.

“There is something about that Neil guy.”

“Is it his beautiful face?” Nicky sounded intrigued. “Or his great body? Because let me tell you, that is some prime—”

“Nicky.”

“You are no fun,” Nicky said with a huff. Andrew could practically see Nicky pouting into his headset.

“He was outright hostile the first day and now seems to be suspiciously okay with me being here.”

“And that… is a bad thing?”

“Just tell coach, okay? I want to know what he thinks about this. I got to go.”

Using Wymack’s code name still felt weird, even after several years. But it was safer than any potential listener making the connection between the name and his boss.

“Sure thing, cousin. Have fun!”

Looking at his phone in disgust, Andrew hung up without further comment. Whoever at the NSA had thought Nicky would make a good handler for him during this mission was an idiot.

Turning around, he took in the house. Or, more accurately, the mansion that had been in the Hatford family for decades. Yesterday, he had stuck to the insides to try and get a feeling for the size and floor plan of the building. Looking at the house now, he could see that the combination of red brick stone and white accents from the front of the house had been continued in the back. At the front, two massive white pillars framed the entrance. In the back, however, the style was much more modern with rectangular shapes and no frills.

The brick stone continued around the sides of the house, while the middle part of the house—namely the drawing room (which was _not_ a sunroom, again according to that same annoying woman) and a large room on the second floor he had yet to gain access to—had a simple white façade that protruded from the otherwise square floor plan. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered almost the entire backside of the house, the straight lines at odds with the old-fashioned furniture and weird decoration inside.

On the third floor, Andrew could see the sloped roof on either side covered with black shingles. Just like he had assumed, his balcony corresponded to the glass part of the drawing room. If he had to guess, he would say the large room on the second floor was the master bedroom, probably reserved for the head of the family clan. For a second he wondered how someone as twitchy and paranoid as Neil could sleep in an open-space bedroom with a glass front but discarded that thought right away.

How Neil slept was none of his business.

Turning around once more, he wandered further away from the house and stepped onto a small stone path leading to the back of the garden. Lines of trees and bushes broke up the garden area, hiding the back part from view. Following the path past trees, flower beds, bushes and along light fixtures, that were installed in the ground at regular intervals, Andrew reached the furthest corner of the garden. From here he could barely make out the house through the dense trees.

Three large lounge chairs easily the size of queen-sized beds were scattered around the area, each with a small table. Large black lanterns were positioned in a way that seemed intentional in its random pattern.

A thud drew his eyes past the seating area to where Neil was standing at the back of the garden. Round target disks were hanging from trees in two-yard intervals, all of them made of wood with large grooves in them. One was still swinging from just having been hit, a knife stuck deep in the wood.

Andrew quietly watched Neil hit bullseye on every target for several minutes, back muscles moving under his sun-bleached shirt.

“Are you as bad with knives as you are with a gun?”

Andrew didn’t startle but it was a close thing. Neil had spoken up without taking his eyes of the targets, another knife hitting bullseye without any hesitation.

Andrew was slowly starting to question his training for this job—he had always considered himself very quiet, but so far, he had been unable to get past Neil without him noticing.

While Neil started collecting his knives, Andrew stepped closer to the throwing area.

Shrugging, he explained, “I’m not a fan of letting go of my weapons. Less likely to end up without one in case of a surprise attack.”

Neil’s eyes snapped to Andrew, surprise at getting an actual answer written on his face for only a millisecond before it expertly went back to a neutral expression.

“Makes sense. I grew up usually the only one in the room without a weapon, so I suppose I never got attached to them. Throwing was oftentimes the best option,” Neil responded, seemingly willing to share some of his past in return for Andrew’s little piece of honesty. “And even if I tried to hold on to a weapon, they were taken away. Because, well, that might’ve made the fight fair.”

Andrew knew about fights that were stacked against oneself. Neil seemed to do as well.

Nodding once, Neil walked over to Andrew, holding out a knife.

“Come on, I’ll show you how to throw them. We can’t have you ruin our reputation in case our neighbors happen to see you.”

With a flat look, Andrew took the offered knife. “Thanks, your compliments are getting worse.”

That startled a surprised laugh out of Neil. Clearing his throat, he quickly turned around and walked closer to one of the hanging targets. Shrugging to himself, Andrew followed him.

After a short demonstration, they started throwing knives in turn. Andrew opting for the closer targets, while Neil continued to aim for the ones furthest away. Annoyingly, Neil hit every time.

Standing next to each other, Andrew could more easily assess the other man. Neil was maybe three inches taller than Andrew, but with Neil’s hunched posture it was barely noticeable. His movements were smooth and flowing, indicating years of practice. Looking at Neil out of the corner of his eye, Andrew noticed a tiny bump on the bridge of Neil’s nose that he hadn’t noticed from the front.

Neil also had freckles.

“You’re actually really terrible at this.”

Blinking a couple time to focus back on the task at hand, Andrew opted not to respond. Instead, he threw his last knife and watched it sail past the target not even five feet away.

“You managed to miss every single time.” Neil’s voice was incredulous.

“It’s not as if knife throwing is an essential skill,” Andrew said shortly.

“Agree to disagree.” Neil started to collect the knives from the targets and picking up the ones on the ground from Andrew. “You want to get lunch?”

After they had collected and stowed away all knives, they walked back to the house, Neil talking about how it had been in their family for generations.

“That’s why the property is so large. Nowadays, properties in the greater London area no longer have gardens like this one.”

That made sense, Andrew thought. Driving here, he had noticed that the other properties seemed to be standing much closer to each other. Andrew didn’t even want to think about how rich the Hatfords must be—it made Neil’s terrible clothes doubly insulting.

“We own more land a bit further out where we can do long-range shooting.” Neil gave Andrew a sideways glance. “Any chance that’s a skill you have?”

At Andrew’s silence, Neil huffed. “I don’t even know why I asked.”

“Are you done?”

Neil looked over his shoulder as they entered the kitchen and grinned at Andrew. “Never.”

* * *

**June 7 | 3:02 pm GMT+1 | Living room, Hatford House, London, England**

It had been a week in the Hatford house and Andrew had successfully managed to not get killed yet.

In fact, it seemed as if he was getting used to the routine of everyone in the house, joining them whenever it allowed him to explore a new part of the house but keeping to himself enough times to not create any expectations.

He now knew the layout of the basement with its movie theater, swimming pool, and an entire room with nothing but plants.

(Who the fuck had a room filled with all kinds of plants in their basement?)

He had also finally taken the time to crack the Hatfords’ security system. It had barely taken him five minutes before he had gained full access to the security cameras throughout the property—all of which were placed in the entrance hall and outside at the front of the house. What was even better, though, was the fact that he had found a suspicious list with audio data points that seemed like an add-on to the general security setup. Systematically disabling the bugs he had found in his room and stored in a closed container, he had continuously checked if any of the data feeds in the security feed would cut off.

Sure enough, one after another, the audio transmitters in the list had delivered a signal error.

The bad news, though, was that there were 21 transmitters listed. He wanted to believe that there was no way someone had put that many bugs into a single room but after making a couple of louder noises, he checked all recordings from the still working audio data lines and heard the noise on every single one.

Unsurprisingly, the data lines weren’t named and did not have any location description, making it impossible for Andrew to guess at their hiding places.

Even worse, while going through his limited options, Andrew had slowly realized that he couldn’t simply scramble the transmitters or turn down the volume to just above zero since the logs seemed to get checked several times a day. He couldn’t risk the Hatfords noticing that he had tampered with their security system. And even he could admit that it was unlikely that he had found all 21 bugs within a couple days when so far in reality—despite plenty of sweeps—he still had only managed to find nine.

At least by watching the camera feeds, he had been able to closely observe the Hatfords coming and going as well as the guards stationed outside. He had tried to figure out who was in charge of the security system and if he had to guess, he would probably say George (apparently a somewhat higher-ranked Hatford and a cousin to Neil) since he always moved in a way that kept him just at the fringe of the hidden cameras’ frame.

Neil did the same but with him it seemed more driven by habitual paranoia than anything else.

Over the days, Andrew had also learned a bunch of far less interesting things about the various family members. For example, George was a fan of daytime talk shows while Emma (another cousin and the one with the weird obsession with how each room was called) loved any show that had to do with cooking or baking. And Stuart watched daytime reruns of trashy dating shows whenever he had a free minute, usually joined by Emma and George’s girlfriend whose name Andrew had yet to find out.

Neil, however, was a mystery.

For the first couple days, their encounters had been mostly brief and to the point. Neither of them felt like oversharing after their short exchange of honesty in the garden on his second day, so they remained quiet for the most part, the truce cautiously still in place.

After a while, though, Andrew had started noticing Neil’s considering looks. It was as if Neil had wanted to talk more but wasn’t yet convinced it was the right move.

Two days ago, Neil seemed to have finally made a decision. He had walked up to Andrew in the kitchen and, with no context, asked him about his opinion on non-perishable foods that would be easy to travel with. He had been underwhelmed by Andrew’s suggestion of packed muffins (chocolate, not banana or any of that nonsense), so Andrew, in turn, had shot down the ridiculous idea of dried fruit ( _what the fuck_ ).

After a twenty-minute discussion, once they had managed to tentatively agree on cereal bars even though Neil had still refused to see the merits of chocolate chunks, Neil had seemingly remembered who he had been talking to. As if a switch had been flipped, his challenging, almost teasing look had been erased in favor of a neutral expression and, after some lame excuse of being busy, he had disappeared out the door.

Then, yesterday, Neil had managed to stay for an entire game of pool. They had even exchanged random insults about each other’s tactics, more joking than anything else despite the outwardly harsh words and cutting remarks.

It had been a nice departure from the constant assessing looks Andrew was getting in this house. All in all, it hadn’t been an entirely terrible way to spend his afternoon in this huge house full of nothing to do for him. The relaxed mood had lasted until Neil had won—purely by chance, obviously—and, with no warning, had walked off again. This time with a dismissive ‘see you later’ thrown over his shoulder.

It was weird.

Now, Andrew was sitting with Emma in the living room (the next person telling him what to call a room in this house would get a knife to their stomach), ignoring each other while watching the rerun of some baking show on the surprisingly modern TV that was mounted against the wall over a strange looking fireplace. Currently, a woman was crying over her burned cookies. She had replaced eggs with avocado, so Andrew thought she got what she deserved.

The room was clearly the epicenter of the house. Everyone seemed to migrate here to check who else was in the house at any given point in time. In the last half hour alone, six people had walked in to ask about the whereabouts of certain people.

No one, Andrew noticed, had asked about Neil.

The furniture in the room was a prime example of the terrible taste of whoever furnished this house. The ugly couch Andrew was sitting on took up most of the space in the room but was surprisingly comfortable, with its large seating area and soft cushions. It almost made up for the hideous pink and beige pattern.

Renee had sent him daily updates from Wymack, but so far they couldn’t make any progress on their end that would justify Andrew breaking off his deal with the Hatfords. So, for now he would continue to wait for one of the Hatford contacts to hear about an upcoming deal that would bring out the Butcher in person.

Andrew hoped he wouldn’t have to wait for much longer. After all, he had only planned to be here for a couple weeks tops before returning home to the States.


	3. Chapter 3—Andrew

> **confusion**
> 
> _noun_ | uncertainty about what is going on; also: state of being caught between contradicting positions or intentions

* * *

**June 9 | 10:08 am GMT+1 | Kitchen, Hatford House, London, England**

Charlie was standing next to the door to the kitchen, watching Andrew with a bored expression.

“Got stuck with me again?” Andrew asked into the awkward silence as he went through the cupboards until he finally found some cookies that looked promising.

Charlie just shrugged, his massive frame following the movement.

He had been the primary guard to keep an eye on Andrew and follow him around the house. He wasn’t the most talkative, which Andrew appreciated. Definitely better than Felix who always wanted to either talk about Andrew's workout routine or his girlfriend.

(Andrew suspected he made Felix nervous and the guy was trying to hide it by talking non-stop, stammering his way through most of it.)

(Why Felix had to end every conversation by talking about his girlfriend's boobs, was beyond him, though.)

After more than a week here, Andrew felt he was fairly familiar with the most important members of the Hatford household, either by meeting them in person or by Neil mentioning them in passing.

Some of the stuff Neil said was completely absurd—who in their right mind tried to shoot apples off someone’s head with a crossbow, much less turn it into a tournament? Crazy people, if you asked Andrew. Apparently, Neil had won, because of course he had. Andrew wanted to believe those random comments were exaggerated but somehow Neil didn’t seem the type to embellish a story just for storytelling sake.

“Let’s go,” Neil announced, stepping into the kitchen. Turning to Charlie, he continued, “You can leave, I’ll take over.”

For a split-second Andrew wondered if Charlie would go against Neil’s order, but the large man merely sulked from the room, no questions asked.

Neil came over and, without comment, started closing the cupboard doors that Andrew had left open for no particular reason. Once he made it to where Andrew was standing with his bag of cookies, he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Ready? You can finish those later.”

“Where are we going?” Andrew asked, stuffing another cookie in his mouth and not moving to put them away just yet.

“I decided that you are useless with targets, so we’ll try something else.” Neil’s eyes were shining bright with mischief.

Andrew just raised an eyebrow at Neil. “Is it worth leaving these cookies behind?”

“They’ll still be here when you come back.”

“You don’t know that. Archie eats them by the bag.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Neil’s brows were furrowed, clearly not knowing about the guard’s eating habits.

Andrew had seen it on the security camera feed but if it wasn’t common knowledge, he was not about to share that bit of information. Instead, he just shrugged, leaving it up to Neil to interpret that whichever way he wanted.

Neil, in turn, rolled his eyes but didn’t comment any further.

“Let’s just go. Stuart is in a meeting, so the air is clear.”

Shrugging again, Andrew finally put the bag back into the cupboard and followed Neil out of the kitchen and up the stairs. It’s not as if he had any plans for the day.

Or any other day, really.

On the second floor, Neil walked over to the door on the far left and turned to Andrew. Until now, Andrew had mostly skipped the second floor since it only had three doors, all of which were locked.

“We both know you’re terrible when it comes to aiming at things.”

Andrew just glared at Neil, not in the mood for trading insults.

“But I thought this might be fun. And not in the you-fail-and-I-make-fun-of-you kind of way.”

“Do you have a point?”

Neil reached into the front pocket of his washed-out jeans and procured two tiny metal bars.

“Lock picks.”

“Yes!” Neil’s eyes widened in excitement. “You know what they are! Now tell me you know how to use them.”

Looking at Neil’s big eyes, his smile slowly spreading over his stupidly attractive face, Andrew wondered if maybe it had been better when Neil had only watched him from afar like some creepy stalker. All these interactions with the idiot were slowly getting to him.

And not in a good way.

Horrified, it occurred to him that he might actually be attracted to the guy. He quickly pushed that thought away. Because it didn’t matter. The weird feeling would pass. He’d been attracted to guys before and the feeling had always passed. All was good.

Annoyed with his wandering thoughts, Andrew ignored Neil’s stupid face and put on his best poker face. “I know how to use them.”

Neil snorted a laugh. “You’re lying, I love it.”

The laugh was so stupid, Andrew drew a complete blank on a comeback, so he decided to just glare at the idiot. He also ignored the effect the laugh had on him. Because it didn’t matter.

_All was good._

The next hour was spent kneeling on the floor in front of the locked door with Neil showing Andrew how to pick the lock. After several attempts, Andrew had to accept that this was one of those moment where his hands had to learn a motion through simple repetition, rendering his perfect memory essentially useless. At least they could take their time—the room they continuously broke into was apparently a guest room that was currently unoccupied. Which also explained why no one cared about their little breaking and entering (without the entering).

Once Andrew had managed to open and lock the door somewhat reliably three times in a row, he turned to Neil.

“Isn’t it counterproductive if I can break into the rooms in this house?”

“Eh.” Neil shrugged. “The important ones have doors with a more advanced lock mechanism.”

Andrew joined Neil on the floor, stretching his legs out to give his knees a break while leaning against the once again locked door.

“Plus,” Neil went on, “in case you haven’t noticed, the rest of my family can be a bit… much. So any excuse to hide somewhere is a good excuse. And there is so much you don’t know, it’s... fun.”

Andrew nodded. He already knew too much about the Hatford family members than he had ever wanted—and that came simply by being in the same room with them. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if these people would actually talk to him.

“Why don’t you leave the house more often? Don’t you have any crime lord meetings to attend or deals to broker?”

“Nah, not really.” Neil turned, so he could lean against the wall next to the door on Andrew’s right. “We agree on new deals mostly via phone and messages. And exchanges are often taken care of by the crew. I’m guessing it’s the same here as it is for you.”

Neil’s look was assessing, as if the question of how Andrew could step out of the spotlight and essentially go into hiding at their house for an undetermined long time had occurred to him as well.

Not having a good answer, Andrew merely nodded, letting Neil draw his own conclusions.

“Plus, if I’m walking around outside, some assholes might try and abduct me.”

“I take it,” Andrew said, rolling his eyes, “’try’ being the key word.”

Neil just grinned at Andrew, silence settling between them.

From the corner of his eye, while he continued massaging life back into his legs, Andrew could see Neil watching him. After a couple minutes, Neil ran his hand through his hair and looked toward the staircase.

“I should probably go.”

Without waiting for a response, Neil got up, stepped over Andrew’s legs and quickly walked off and down the stairs.

Only when Neil was out of sight did Andrew notice that he was still holding the lock picks in his hand. Shrugging, he put them in his pocket and went back to the kitchen.

Archie better not have eaten those cookies.

* * *

**June 11 | 4:18 pm GMT+1 | Gaming room, Hatford House, London, England**

Neil was leaning over the pool table, the back of his shirt had ridden up to reveal a sliver of toned skin.

It looked soft.

When the door to the gaming room burst open, Andrew automatically took a step back, his eyes snapping to the intruder.

“Seriously? Can’t you knock?” Neil said sharply to his uncle, grimacing at the white ball rolling aimlessly across the table.

“Remi made contact,” Stuart announced, ignoring Neil’s comment. “We’re meeting in the sitting room in five minutes.”

Andrew wasn’t sure which room that was, so he looked from a still lingering Stuart to Neil.

Neil, however, was leaning on his cue and looking at his uncle, one eyebrow raised in waiting. Andrew watched the two men stare each other down for several seconds before Stuart huffed.

“The small living room,” he relented. “Happy?”

Neil straightened at that, primly twirling the cue in his hand. “Why, yes, uncle. Thank you for asking.”

Andrew rolled his eyes at Neil’s antics but decided to stay out of this familial squabble and remain silent in his corner of the room.

Once Stuart had left with another huff, Neil explained to Andrew, while collecting the balls and returning them to their rightful place, that Remi was an informant that was posing as one of Nathan’s crew members.

“And what is a sitting room?” Andrew couldn’t help but ask.

“That, my dear fellow criminal,” Neil turned to Andrew as he opened the door, his voice a mix of disdain and heavy sarcasm, “is a very good question. You see, Stuart, along with my entire family, seems to be stuck in the 19th century, with their hierarchical structures and outdated titles and, of course, old-fashioned names for the rooms in this house. Which is also why we have a plant room and two light wells.”

Arriving in the room across the hall from Stuart’s office, Andrew saw that the rest of the high-ranking members of the Hatford family, about eight people in total, had already arrived and claimed a seat around a large round table.

The room was significantly smaller than the living room, the massive table and highbacked chairs giving it a stuffy vibe. Looking around, Andrew almost groaned at the ugly teardrop shaped golden chandeliers hanging over the table.

“It is also why we have to behave like knights summoned by King Arthur.” Neil’s mocking voice rang out in the silence, getting everyone’s attention.

Not for the first time Andrew wondered about Neil’s cynicism when it came to his own family.

* * *

**June 12 | 0:28 am GMT+1 | Andrew’s room, Hatford House, London, England**

Sitting on his bed, not ready to go to sleep just yet, Andrew once again went over the things that had been discussed after Stuart had summoned them.

Good news was that this Remi woman had heard about a possible deal being made with a drug trafficker from the West coast. According to her, the deal should have a large enough setup to require the Butcher’s presence during the exchange rather than leaving it up to one of his high-ranking men.

There were a couple bad news, though. One, it was unclear what Nathan would hand over during the deal in exchange for the drugs which made for a giant unknown in this equation. Two, Nathan had not yet agreed to the deal, so the entire update might be irrelevant. And three, for now the deal did not have a date and, according to Stuart, it might be months from now until it actually took place.

Months.

Massaging his temple, Andrew took out his phone and pinged Renee. He wanted to check the timeline with Wymack—several months was significantly longer than they had planned to invest into this Hatford/Wesninski connection. Hopefully Wymack had found a different way for them to get closer to the Butcher since his last update from Renee.

> [TODAY]
> 
> A, 0:31 am | FOO?

_‘Are you there?’_

> R, 0:31 am | T

_‘Yes.’_

Not for the first time, Andrew was thankful that Renee was pretty much always on her phone, prioritizing Andrew over any other operations she had going on.

> R, 0:31 am | AN T

Aaron and Nicky were still safe. Andrew appreciated that Renee didn’t make him ask. He also appreciated that Renee followed the list of previously agreed upon questions, unlike certain other people in Andrew’s life.

> R, 0:32 am | DATEP
> 
> A, 0:32 am | ~

Nope, there might be a deal coming up, but no date.

> A, 0:33 am | J J A …

Andrew really hoped this whole stint with the Hatfords would not go until July, not to mention August or longer.

> A, 0:33 am | CHECK W
> 
> R, 0:33 am | T

Good, Renee would check the timeline with Wymack.

> R, 0:34 am | GABRIEL
> 
> A, 0:34 am | NIL

No, Andrew didn’t think this was a stalling tactic on the Hatfords’ end. They had seemed equally annoyed with the long timeline when Remi had given her assessment of the situation.

> R, 0:34 am | JFCLP
> 
> A, 0:35 am | NIL

No, Andrew didn’t want to cancel the operation just yet. At least not until Wymack had any useful information that would open up a new pathway to the Moriyamas.

> R, 0:35 am | VULNP

No, Andrew was not compromised and potentially vulnerable in enemy territory.

> A, 0:36 am | ROOT

Being able to confirm his continuous access to the security system made him feel slightly better even if it was functionally useless since he still didn’t know where the mikes in his room were.

> R, 0:37 am | BYE?
> 
> A, 0:37 am | BYE

Disconnecting from the messaging app with Renee, he looked around the room. The plants in the corner were still as obnoxiously large as on the first day. The spotlights still lit up every inch of the room.

Deciding that sleep was beyond him, Andrew got up and quietly made his way downstairs to see if he could find something to eat to take his mind off the thoughts going in circles in his head.

Standing in front of the open double doors of the fridge in the otherwise dark kitchen, he heard quiet steps coming closer. Looking over his shoulder, Andrew saw Neil stepping into the kitchen. He had witnessed Neil walking into rooms without making a single sound, so he figured the noise right now had to have been on purpose.

Not surprising Andrew by suddenly appearing next to him was suspiciously considerate.

“Hungry?” Running his hand through his messy hair, sweatpants riding low on his narrow hips, Neil walked up to Andrew. “Yeah, dinner wasn’t great today.”

Neil’s quiet voice was raspy, making Andrew wonder if he had already been asleep. Deciding that that way lay madness, Andrew forced himself to focus back on the insides of the fridge.

Without waiting for Andrew to respond, Neil took out ingredients, turned on a cluster of spotlights over the kitchen counter, and started making sandwiches for the two of them.

Watching Neil handle the knife efficiently, barely making a sound, Andrew’s tired brain conjured up images of Neil expertly throwing knife after knife, always hitting his intended target. Of Neil shooting his chair with absolute accuracy.

Of Renee asking whether he was safe.

Was he?

There was no way of knowing the Hatfords’ true intentions behind agreeing to the deal.

In fact, there was no way of knowing what Neil was capable of. And what he was willing to do.

Maybe for the first time since this fake deal with the Hatfords had started, the reality of the situation sunk in—right when he was standing uselessly in this pristine kitchen, watching the notorious head of a powerful mob family making fucking sandwiches.

While Andrew’s shoulders became more tense by the minute, Neil seemed more relaxed than Andrew had ever seen him. It made no sense why this distrustful, short-tempered man would agree to Andrew’s deal. It made even less sense that he would go out of his way to spend any amount of time with him.

“Truth for a truth.” The words were out before Andrew could stop them, hanging in the silence between them as he took one of the plates from Neil’s outstretched hands.

“Huh?” Looking up from the plates, confusion was written on Neil’s face.

“You ask a question and I give you a truthful answer,” Andrew explained, “and then I take a turn.”

Neil hesitated shortly but, eventually, nodded his agreement while walking over to the table. “Sure.”

Andrew gestured for him to start, taking a seat next to Neil.

“Why don’t you smoke?”

That was not what Andrew had expected. There was no way that Neil knew that Andrew used to smoke until a couple years ago.

At Andrew’s silence, Neil elaborated, “I’ve seen you watch the guards that smoke in the garden. You clearly want to join them. So why don’t you?”

Just how closely had Neil been watching Andrew? He would have to be more careful.

Shrugging, Andrew decided to go with something close to the truth. “Cigarettes are a security risk. It's easier to stay focused on what’s happening when you're not constantly thinking about where they might be selling them.”

In truth, one of the agents at the FBI had died because of a poisoned cigarette and Wymack had decided that it was too dangerous for Andrew to continue smoking. Reluctantly, Andrew had agreed.

“Talking from experience?”

Andrew raised a brow at Neil’s second question, but Neil just rolled his eyes as if saying ‘seriously?’.

Catching himself at the last moment before his face could betray his amusement, Andrew responded, “Yes, and it fucking sucked.”

It wasn’t a lie, either. He once had gotten so distracted by a sign for a local gas station that he almost hadn’t noticed the guy he was supposed to close a drug deal with had arrived at the scene.

Neil looked at him for a while, as if knowing that it wasn’t the whole truth. Eventually, he accepted it and nodded at Andrew to ask his question.

“Why go running by yourself?”

“You mean since other people might actually manage to abduct me?”

Andrew just gave him a flat look, not deeming that with a response.

A small grin flittered across Neil’s face. “The whole point of running is to take my mind off the circus in this house. Taking guards with me for the run would defeat the purpose. Plus, they are much more recognizable than me.” He narrowed his eyes at Andrew. “I’ve never had anyone recognize me before.”

Andrew was tempted to ask about the ‘circus’ but figured Neil would take it as an opportunity to ask Andrew how he had tracked him down during his run. And he wasn’t sure how to answer that without revealing that a ten-man team from the secret service had been involved.

Shaking his head instead, Andrew narrowed his eyes as well, mimicking Neil. “You don’t add up.” At Neil’s raised eyebrow, Andrew continued, “You demand too much change to a system that draws its strength from staying the same.”

Neil nodded slowly, as if conceding Andrew’s assessment.

“Well, I’d say you don’t add up either.” Neil leaned in, stopping only a couple inches from Andrew’s face, not breaking eye contact. “After all, what criminal offers to tell the truth?”

After a tense moment, Neil took Andrew’s empty plate and walked over to the sink. Andrew, more stunned than he was willing to admit, followed but again ended up standing uselessly next to Neil, watching as the other man did all the work.

Neil still seemed perfectly relaxed, but Andrew couldn’t shake off their exchange. He wasn’t used to people turning a conversation back on him. He'd have to make sure it wouldn’t happen again.

Andrew nodded to himself with new-found resolve while Neil was busy putting the washed and dried plates away. Together, they made their way up the stairs, Neil walking next to him as they silently climbed the never-ending staircase to the top floor.

After reaching his door, Andrew turned back to Neil. “Congratulations, you walked me safely to my room. Does every guest get this level of service or am I special?”

Neil furrowed his brows. “No?”

“So you walked all the way up here by accident?” Distracted by Neil’s sleepy confusion, Andrew’s lips twitched without his permission.

“No, I live up here.” Neil pointed at the door next to Andrew’s, the ‘duh’ clear in his eyes. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Wait, what?

Neil had closed his door before Andrew managed to come up with a response.

_Damn it._

* * *

**June 12 | 11:14 am GMT+1 | Living room, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew was sitting in the armchair opposite the kitchen door, reading one of the many paperback books that were scattered across every available surface in the room. Emma was sitting on the couch to his right, zapping through the channels, probably looking for one of her cooking shows. He was fairly sure that Emma had never touched a single utensil in the kitchen, so her fascination with cooking shows made no sense.

Walking in, Neil nodded in the direction of the garden. “You’re coming?”

Andrew would usually refuse on principle. Yet somehow, he merely shrugged and got up to follow Neil, leaving his book face down on the couch table.

He decided not to think about it.

Outside, Neil walked toward the back of the garden, not waiting to see whether Andrew was following. After reaching the area in the back of the garden, he plopped down on one of the massive lounge chairs and turned to Andrew.

The chairs were ridiculous things that, until now, Andrew had only noticed in passing. They were more like lounging islands, almost as wide as they were long, and almost as thick as a normal mattress. Their dark blue color did not match anything Andrew had seen in the house.

If Andrew was honest, the entire house with its furniture, decoration, art and random assortment of plants remained a mystery to him. He was convinced no one with any sense of style had been involved in furnishing the house.

Looking at Neil’s too big shirt hanging off his slender figure, washed out print on the front and formless jeans that looked as if the rips were very much not intentional, Andrew was not surprised.

He picked the chair next to Neil and sat down, cross-legged, looking at Neil expectantly. Two days ago, he had stopped wearing his ankle and thigh knives. It was mostly because he no longer expected attacks at any given moment. But it had also been, in part, so he could be more comfortable—the amount of time he spent lounging about during his stay with the Hatfords was truly ridiculous.

He still had knives strapped to his forearms, though.

(Because he wasn’t an idiot that trusted the fucking mafia.)

The Hatford guards also no longer followed him, at least when he was with Neil. Apparently, Neil had told them in no uncertain terms that he didn’t appreciate being followed in his own home and if Andrew were to pose any threat, he would be more than capable of dealing with it himself.

Andrew wanted to disagree with him but who was he kidding? He wasn’t even sure if Renee could win against Neil in a fight and Renee was the best fighter he knew.

“I figured we should share some of the information we have on Nathan and the Moriyamas since the whole point of this,” Neil pointed between him and Andrew, “is to get you into their inner circle and replace the right hand of the Moriyamas.”

Neil’s voice was matter-of-fact, his look determined. There was no animosity but also none of the humor Andrew had witnessed in fleeting moments over the last two weeks. Looking at the man across from him, Andrew also couldn’t see any traces of the relaxed Neil from last night. In fact, he seemed tense, his hands were fidgeting. As if he wasn’t sure about this conversation.

Andrew wanted to call this version of Neil boring but couldn’t help finding it intriguing more than anything else.

Nodding, Andrew gestured for Neil to start. After several months of intensive research, they had a good idea of where the Butcher fit into the Moriyama network. Still, he wouldn’t mind getting some insider information first before offering some of his own.

Listening to Neil talk about how the Butcher did not only lead his own organized crime ring specialized in trafficking goods of any kind, but also served as the right arm and personal clean-up crew to the Moriyamas, was chilling to say the least. Both the content and Neil’s apathy in the face of so much cruelty had Andrew struggling to not let any emotion show on his face. At some points, Neil almost seemed frustrated, but Andrew couldn’t pinpoint why. He also noticed how Neil started to describe the jobs the Butcher did for the Moriyamas in increasingly gruesome detail.

If, after their conversation, he skipped lunch, it was only because he wasn’t hungry and had nothing to do with their in-depth discussion about severing limbs from a body or which bones to break first during an interrogation ( _none_ , what the fuck).

Neil also frequently paused to let Andrew respond or add any valuable input. He tried to share some of his own hard-won knowledge, such as the size of the Butcher’s current crew, his recent focus on drugs—they hadn’t even known about any other kind of trafficking but Neil didn’t have to know this—or how, for the past year, a woman only known as Lola had been the official spokesperson for the Butcher.

In the end, nothing he said seemed new to Neil. Or maybe Neil just had a better poker face than Andrew had thought.

Andrew wasn’t sure which option was more troubling.

Still, by the time Neil had walked off toward the house, after staring at Andrew for a moment with an expression Andrew couldn’t decipher, Andrew couldn’t help but feel as if he had passed a test.

Of what, he wasn’t sure yet. But he had the feeling that Neil no longer saw him quite as lacking as he had at the beginning of his time with the Hatfords.

Unsure of what he did to improve his position, he mentally went through their back-and-forth. Neil’s stories had at times appeared to have holes or he had seemed to skip aspects—especially when it came to his mother or his own role within the Moriyama network. That being said, this whole thing was one massive clusterfuck so Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if Neil didn’t know the full picture either.

Either way, all this first-hand information was invaluable. As far as Andrew could tell, it offered a lot of new puzzle pieces that the agencies at home—NSA, FBI, CIA—had yet to find out about. Because, even though his team at the NSA had uncovered the link between the Moriyamas and the Butcher of Baltimore, they had definitely not understood just how far-reaching their networks were interwoven.

Maybe coming here wouldn’t turn out to be a total waste of time after all.

* * *

**June 15 | 4:43 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

“Why are you so shit at this?” Neil groaned, as if he was personally offended.

They had been throwing knives at tree trunks and targets for the past hour. It was clearly one of Neil’s favorite spots on the Hatford property—Andrew had no idea why he shared it so openly with him but wasn’t stupid enough to question it.

More interesting, anyway, was the fact that no one else ever joined them. In general, Neil didn’t seem to spend a lot of time with his family unless he had to.

“Your wrist is all wrong.” Neil came stomping over and snatched Andrew’s arm before he could throw another knife. Andrew was so surprised at the contact that he didn’t even think to defend himself or pull his hand out of Neil’s unexpectedly strong hold.

Sometimes Andrew really _was_ useless.

“You have to hold it higher and stop moving your arm so much.” Still holding onto Andrew’s arm, he tried to show the wrist movement he had been doing with every throw. “You have to relax. Like this, see?”

All Andrew could see was Neil standing really close with his eyes focused on Andrew’s hand, his fingers more gentle than Andrew would’ve thought. When Neil looked up, their eye contact lasted for a beat too long. Blinking, Neil finally stepped back.

“Uhm.” Neil’s eyes flickered over Andrew—his face, shoulders, his hand with the knife still poised. “Try again.” His voice was low, sounding flustered.

Throwing the knife and watching it skidder to the ground not six yards away, Andrew had to admit that had probably been his most pathetic attempt yet.

“You’re hopeless.” Neil huffed, the moment from a minute ago gone. “It’s probably all those muscles.”

Andrew watched Neil’s eyes track the movement as he rolled his right shoulder.

After a moment, Neil mumbled, “There’s just so much of it.”

What was that supposed to mean? Did Neil think he was too—

“Let’s collect the knives.” Neil’s head snapped to the targets hanging from the trees about ten yards away. “Maybe try again some other time.”

“Such faith.” Andrew tried to not sound irritated. He wasn’t sure if he had succeeded.

“That’s me.” The smile Neil threw Andrew over his shoulder was unusually unsteady, missing its feisty edge. “I’m the optimist in the family, obviously.”

Andrew huffed at Neil’s failed nonchalance. Whatever. Andrew’s weight was _fine_. And if Neil had a problem with it, he could go fuck himself. Because Andrew didn’t care.

He _didn’t._

And in all honestly, after two weeks of listening to Neil’s arrogant comments and seeing his stupid grin and witnessing an absolute lack in ability to dress himself, Andrew was barely attracted to him at this point. So, Neil’s opinion was irrelevant. Because Andrew had everything under full control.

(And if Andrew did an extra set of push-ups before he went to bed that night, then it had nothing to do with Neil.)

Watching Neil collecting the knives, Andrew knew the conversation was over, anyway. He could tell that Neil was getting twitchy. He would give it another ten minutes before the guy would make up an excuse and escape—that had been an emerging pattern over the last week: As soon as they got into a comfortable rhythm, Neil would up and leave.

Andrew understood Neil’s apprehension—it was just as strange and foreign to him to be able to fall into conversation with someone without even trying. But he didn’t see how running away helped the situation.

“Tell me a fun story about the worst job you’ve ever done.” Neil’s voice was forcefully bright.

Andrew didn’t call him out on his weak attempt to change the topic. He wasn’t sure why he let Neil get away with so much.

That, too, was an emerging pattern between the two.

“Taking a turn?”

“Sure.” Neil shrugged, watching Andrew pick up a couple knives. “I gave you a lot the other day, so let’s call it repayment.”

Andrew had already expected something along those lines—the information on the Butcher creating somewhat of an imbalance between the two—so he told the story of an arms deal from two years ago.

He had to edit the story so heavily that he wasn’t sure if it still made any sense. Neil didn’t seem to mind, though. He chuckled several times during Andrew’s story of how he got lost at the location and almost walked into the wrong warehouse. And when Andrew described how he tried to test one of the firearms, he didn’t even have to go into detail before Neil burst out laughing.

Hearing the bubbly and unrestrained laugh floating through the garden, Andrew somehow didn’t even mind that it was at his expense.

“So, I handed the gun to one of my men to do some test shots since that was probably safer for everyone present.”

“I can’t believe they still proceeded with the deal after that,” Neil said, still laughing quietly.

Andrew wanted to tell Neil that him accidentally shooting at the ground because he hadn’t realized that the safety on the gun had already been switched off, wasn’t _that_ funny. But watching Neil, eyes shining bright, expression open and shoulders once more relaxed, how could he?

“I was fairly new and the goods were high-quality,” he said instead, “also, I think he was a bit desperate.”

“Ah, desperation.” Neil nodded sagely at Andrew from where he stood close to a bag where he was stowing the knives, fixating each one with a velcro strap. “Always a good deal closer.”

“Well, not everyone can rely on a family full of psychopathic butchers.”

Andrew had meant it as a joke, but Neil just nodded slowly, focusing fully on finishing up strapping in the knives and closing the bag for the next target practice.

“Did I hit a nerve?” Andrew asked, voice heavy with sarcasm. He wouldn’t take his comment back or apologize but he hadn’t actually meant it as an insult.

Neil closed his eyes and seemed to be counting to five before focusing his eyes on Andrew, a serious expression on his face. “Andrew, the day you manage to hit anything, I will eat a chair.”

Fucker.

As if reading his mind and being satisfied with what he found, Neil grinned at Andrew and walked off toward the house, a single “see you later” thrown over his shoulder.

* * *

**June 19 | 11:08 am GMT+1 | Living room, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew was walking around the house, somewhat aimlessly, looking for Neil. He had already checked the garden and basement and was slowly circling back through the rooms on the first floor.

No Neil.

Felix had offered him to help find whatever he was looking for, but Andrew had declined. He was not in the mood to explain for the umpteenth time how he styled his hair just for Felix to find a way to end the conversation by telling Andrew that he had a girlfriend. Why did he think Andrew gave a fuck?

“What are you looking for?” James’ nasal voice came from his right. The guard was usually stationed outside at the front, but Andrew had noticed him taking up position next to the patio doors whenever Neil was in the living room.

“None of your business,” Andrew responded, not in the mood for a conversation with this creepy stalker.

“Listen, asshole, you better—"

“There you are!” Neil’s voice had him turning around to where Neil was stepping through the patio doors into the living room. “I was looking for you.”

Neil’s smile was open, his blue, blue eyes looking at Andrew, completely ignoring James puffing out his chest next to him.

He wasn't sure if Neil's ignorance was intentional or if he really was that oblivious to James' interest.

“Why.” Andrew was _not_ going to tell Neil that he had been looking for him as well.

“Uhm,” Neil shrugged, “no reason.”

Idiot.

Finally turning to James, Neil asked, “Shouldn’t you be out front?”

His voice had been neutral, but Andrew could clearly hear his irritation. He wasn’t sure if James did, though.

Once James had sulked from the room after a decidedly creepy ' _of course Mister Hatford_ ', Neil walked toward Andrew, the guard seemingly already forgotten. “You want to go outside and read for a bit?”

It had almost become routine to spend their days on the lounge chairs outside. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t.

At all times, Andrew ignored how natural spending time together had come to them.

“You make no sense,” Andrew said into the small space between them, looking up into Neil’s eyes. “You live with your family. And yet, we spend all days as far away from them as possible.”

Neil held the eye contact, his smile taking on a dangerous edge. “Says the one spending all days with me as far away from potential business associates.”

“Touché.”

* * *

**June 22 | 2:37 pm GMT+1 | Living room, Hatford House, London, England**

When Andrew walked into the living room, Neil was sitting in his favorite corner of the couch, glaring at his phone.

“What’s up, did your phone tell you your outfit is terrible?”

Without looking up, Neil mumbled, “Your outfit is terrible.”

When Andrew didn’t respond, Neil looked up and rolled his eyes at Andrew’s raised eyebrow. “Fine, your outfit isn’t terrible.”

Nodding satisfied, Andrew walked around the table and sat down in the middle of the couch. He would not let someone dressed like a homeless person insult his outfit. At least his clothes fit. And color matched.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Neil huffed, turning to Andrew. “An app is gone and I can’t find it. I just had it like a minute ago but then it started moving around and now it’s gone.”

Andrew tried to make sense of that.

“It… moved around?”

“Yeah, like, I tapped on it and then it was moving and suddenly it was gone.”

Andrew reached for Neil’s phone and was surprised when Neil let him actually take it. “Which app?”

Neil scooped over until he was right in Andrew’s space, seemingly without even noticing. Leaning over Andrew he pointed at the top of his screen. “It was right there. It was a game with numbers.”

Ignoring the feeling of Neil’s arm brushing against his, Andrew opened the app menu and looked for an app ‘with numbers’. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

After a bit of scrolling, he saw one that looked somewhat like sudoku. “This one?”

“Yes!” Andrew could feel Neil’s relieved sigh against his cheek. “What happened?”

“You probably dragged it into the trash and deleted it from your home screen,” Andrew explained before adding mockingly, “grandpa.”

Neil just rolled his eyes—no comeback forthcoming—and watched him place the app back on the home screen.

Andrew thought about setting up a security gap in the phone’s system that he could take advantage of in the future but quickly dismissed it. With Neil leaning the tiniest bit against his shoulder, his face only inches away from Andrew’s, he decided that it would be too risky to install something with Neil watching so closely.

It was a strictly rational decision, of course.

So instead, he started to organize Neil’s cluttered home screen. Because the current state of Neil’s phone was an insult to everyone who had to look at it. No other reason.

“Where are you putting my apps, don’t just delete them.” Neil’s brows were furrowed, his voice confused but not angry.

“I’m not deleting them. Your screen was a fucking mess, so I’m organizing the apps into folders. See.” Andrew demonstrated how to access each folder from the home screen by simply tapping on them. “Also, that way it should be more difficult to accidentally delete them.”

“Oh,” Neil mumbled next to Andrew’s left ear, “that’s good, I guess.”

Andrew couldn’t help himself and quickly went into the settings of Neil’s phone. The geo-tracking was turned off, but he couldn’t find any other modifications.

That was crazy.

“Your phone isn’t secured.” Too incredulous to keep his mouth shut, Andrew turned his head and realized just how close they were. Watching Neil bite his bottom lip, Andrew wasn’t surprised to find them chapped. This close, he could also see every freckle spread out across Neil’s nose and cheeks.

“Hm?” Neil turned his face toward Andrew, not moving away to make more space between them.

Neither did Andrew.

“Your phone,” Andrew repeated, his voice deeper than normal. Stupid voice. “You don’t have any security features on here.”

“Oh yeah.” Neil shrugged, eyes moving from Andrew’s down to his phone, watching Andrew go back to his home screen. “I don’t really do much with it.”

Andrew wasn’t sure what to say to that. That Neil was an idiot? That seemed so obvious, he wasn’t sure if it was even worth pointing it out.

With no response coming to mind, silence stretched between them. Neil was still leaning against him, eyes downcast and focused on the phone in Andrew’s hands even though the screen had already turned dark. His long eyelashes were curled at the end, their color a dark brown.

Pretty.

Andrew hated it.

“Thanks Andrew,” Neil finally said, voice almost loud in the quiet of the house around them. He quickly looked up at him before reaching for his phone and taking it from Andrew’s unresponsive hands.

Blinking away his stupid thoughts, Andrew nodded slowly.

“Sure.” Andrew cleared his throat, watching Neil’s furrowed brows and tense shoulders. “I’m guessing the disappearing app is not the real issue. So, what’s got you in a bad mood?”

“What makes you think that I’m in a bad mood?” Neil’s voice was a mix of surprise and suspicion.

Andrew just raised his eyebrows, not deeming that with a response.

“I’m serious. No one ever notices it.”

Andrew was fairly sure that it wasn’t so much ‘noticing’ as simply ‘caring enough to ask’ that was the problem with Neil’s family.

He wasn’t sure, however, why he did if Neil’s own family didn’t.

Huffing, Neil finally relented. “It’s about Theobald Dickface the Third.”

“That’s not his name.”

“Might as well be.” Neil shrugged. “He’s… asking for stuff without doing anything in return.”

“Tell him no.”

“Not really how it works.”

Andrew watched Neil repeatedly swiping over the screen of his locked phone, cleaning it of non-existent smudges. Neil’s comment made him think of his people at home—Aaron, Nicky, even Kevin and Renee. Unfortunately, he knew better than most that when certain people asked, you simply couldn’t say no. Even if you really wanted to.

“Have I met him?” If this Theobald was a family member, chances were good that Andrew had at least seen him around.

For some reason, that question made the corners of Neil’s lips twitch.

“Something funny?”

“No, not per se.” Neil looked at Andrew, humor clear in his eyes. “I’m just imagining the two of you meeting. I don’t think he would know what to do with you.”

“Because I’m so intimidating.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” A grin overtook Neil’s face. “Your whole dark and mysterious psychopath thing would totally work on him.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at Neil. “Better than your twitchy knife-wielding ninja mobster thing.”

That got a single loud laugh from Neil that seemed to surprise Neil as much as it did Andrew.

“Actually, I would love to see his face when confronted with both of us.” Neil chuckled. “We’re the stuff nightmares are made of.”

Neil’s grin was as sharp as a knife’s edge, eyes glinting.

In that moment, Neil most definitely did not seem real, but Andrew wasn’t sure if he was a nightmare or something much worse.

Something much more complicated.

Once more, Andrew couldn’t think of a response, struck speechless in the middle of a conversation by this man next to him. With too many thoughts running through his traitorous head, he let the silence from a couple minutes ago settle between them again.

Neil’s eyes held his, before moving to his hair, his lips, back to his eyes.

Andrew stared back, unable to look away. It almost felt as if they were locked in a bubble with Neil in sharp contrast to the blurry world around them.

Neil’s ice blue eyes were sprinkled with gray, his iris was circled with a dark gray ring. His straight nose disguised the small bump Andrew now knew was there. The scar that ran across the side of his right cheek, faded to a fine line from age. A full bottom lip that was caught between Neil’s teeth.

Light brown freckles, too many to count in just a single moment, with one right on the edge of Neil’s upper lip.

Steps coming closer broke Andrew out of his trance.

“I should pluck in my phone,” Neil suddenly exclaimed. “I always forget to do that and then it runs out of battery and…,” he trailed off, staring at Andrew.

Neil seemed flustered, right? Andrew wasn’t imagining it, _right_?

“Hey Neil, do you know where Stuart is?” Emma walked in from the hallway, taking in the two of them.

“Nope.” With that, Neil got up and speed walked it out of the room.

Andrew just shrugged at Emma’s raised eyebrow.

He had no fucking clue what just happened, either.


	4. Chapter 4—Andrew

> **problem**
> 
> _noun_ | unforeseen complication; also: source of confusion, turmoil

* * *

**June 25 | 12:34 pm GMT+1 | Kitchen, Hatford House, London, England**

“I can hear you, you know.”

“Congratulations. You want a gold sticker?” Andrew was sure he hadn't made a single sound when entering the kitchen.

He had started to accept Neil’s ninja skills, knowing that he would never get to the same level. Still, the number of times Neil had nearly given Andrew a heart attack from seemingly appearing next to him, was getting on Andrew’s nerves. Unfortunately, his attempted revenge had clearly been a failure.

Neil just threw a grin over his shoulder from his place at the kitchen counter. Andrew paused in the doorway, momentarily stunned—Neil was wearing dark jeans that looked new and seemed to actually fit and a dark blue button down with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“If you want to move around without making a sound, step on the ball of your feet, not the heel.”

Waking up from his stupor, Andrew walked over to where Neil was, watching him assemble a sandwich.

“I know.” Andrew wasn’t _completely_ clueless.

“So, not doing it is on purpose?” Neil said, amusement clear in his voice.

“Shut up,” Andrew grumbled. That was the best he could come up with and he didn’t need to see Neil’s grin to know it had been a pretty weak comeback. He blamed it on Neil’s jeans.

He also needed to get a fucking grip.

“Make me one?”

Neil just hummed, already pulling out more bread.

They hadn’t talked much over the last couple days, Neil seemingly disappearing after the weird moment in the living room. Andrew had gone over the moment several times but couldn’t tell if he had done something wrong. He didn’t like the thought that he might’ve made Neil uncomfortable but wasn’t sure what to do about it.

He would have to be more careful. Put some distance between them.

They were business partners. It was fine.

Standing next to each other at the counter, Andrew watched Neil from the corner of his eye.

He didn’t seem tense, or uncomfortable. If anything, Neil seemed tired. His hair was standing up in all directions and the dark circles under his eyes were far more prominent than usually.

Was everything okay with him?

And why did Andrew care? Hadn't he just decided to keep his distance from now on?

Not getting anywhere with his thoughts going in circles, he said the first thing that came to mind, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s with the clothes? Any official mob business planned for today?”

“Uhm,” Neil hesitated, glancing at him for a moment before looking back down at the sandwich he was assembling, “not really, just thought I’ll wear something else today.”

Andrew nodded, distracted by Neil’s quick, efficient hands. He had long, elegant fingers. A web of scars and burn marks stretched across Neil’s tan skin, from the back of his hands all the way up to his elbows. Not for the first time, Andrew wondered what the lines and bumps would feel like under his fingertips.

“Why, does it look…,” Neil’s words pulled Andrew from his thoughts, traces of uncertainty evident in his voice. He trailed off as if searching for the right word, before finally settling on, “not okay?”

“No, it looks...” Andrew hesitated, not sure what would be okay to say before finally settling on, “good.”

“Oh,” Neil looked up at Andrew, surprise slowly replaced by a small smile. “Good.”

Nodding emphatically, Andrew decided it was high time for a change in topic.

“I’m taking a turn.” Fully turning toward Neil and leaning his hip against the counter, he continued, “Why am I not allowed in the downstairs room that’s labeled gym?”

Neil paused and looked at Andrew, confused. “Of course you can use the gym. Who said you couldn’t?”

Surprised by this easy response, Andrew shrugged. “Whenever I walk up to the room, one of the guards moves into my way. I figured that something nefarious must be going on in there.”

Neil chuckled, just like Andrew had known he would. And why had he tried to make Neil laugh?

“The only nefarious thing happening in there is George spreading his sweat on every surface.”

Annoyed with himself but satisfied with the answer that he could use the gym, Andrew let the topic go. Instead, he took the ingredients Neil had used and put them back into the fridge while Neil went to clean the utensils.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Huh?” Andrew looked over at Neil, hands still inside the fridge.

Neil was leaning against the counter, two plates with their sandwiches next to him. Andrew couldn’t decipher his expression.

“Pancakes.” Andrew wasn’t sure what Neil planned to do with that information but didn’t see any reason to lie.

Neil nodded slowly. “I can see that.”

Andrew wondered what that was supposed to mean but didn’t want to give Neil the satisfaction of asking. He also wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to know where Neil saw the connection between him and pancakes.

(Was it the shape? Did Neil think Andrew looked like one?)

(Inconspicuously looking down at himself, Andrew decided that was a ridiculous thought. And if he did more crunches that night than usual, then no one had to know.)

They took the plates over to the table and sat down next to each other. While they started digging in, Neil gave a quick update on the Butcher deal, the conversation thankfully returning to their normal back-and-forth, the awkwardness from a couple minutes ago forgotten. The best news, by far, were that the deal would apparently not be in exchange for human organs, as some informant had claimed two days ago.

Andrew tried his best to be as blasé about it as Neil.

“Is it normal for the contracted goods to change even after a deal has been agreed on?”

“It happens sometimes. It's usually better to switch goods than to call off a deal.” Neil shrugged.

“Does the Butcher often call off deals?”

“Eh,” Neil said, tilting is hand in a so-so gesture. “It’s pretty much a hit and miss with these deals.”

He suddenly looked up, focusing on Andrew.

“Obviously, that saying is based on a normal person’s hit-miss-ratio.”

Andrew, mouth full, just gave Neil the middle finger, not deeming the comment with a response.

He also didn’t stare at Neil’s grin. Or how his eyes scrunched up when smiling. Or his toned forearms.

Glaring at his plate instead, he stuffed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth to make sure he wouldn’t say something stupid. Like suggest that Neil should wear those jeans more often.

After cleaning up, Andrew expected Neil to vanish again. Neil, however, was hesitating next to the sink, fidgeting with the sponge.

“You want to grab a couple books and go to the garden?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow at Neil but decided not to comment on it. Instead he just nodded in the direction of the garden and walked off, figuring that Neil would follow him.

As they walked toward their lounge chairs, books in hand, Andrew wondered when he had stopped worrying about their timeline. They were far behind the initially planned timing for a bust but looking at Neil next to him, he somehow didn’t mind the delay.

Surely after three years of dealing with criminals and hiding from killers, he deserved some time to breathe, right?

* * *

**June 28 | 2:35 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

„I’m taking a turn.“

They were in the back part of the garden, Andrew sitting cross-legged on the grass, leaning back on his hands. Neil was lying next to him, his shirt rumpled, arms stretched over his head. The lounge chairs were only a couple feet away, but they had been too lazy to move after throwing golf balls against tree trunks for the past hour.

Neil had decided that they should do target practice with balls rather than knives and Andrew, annoyingly, had been unable to tell him no. According to Neil, Andrew wouldn’t have to worry about the spin of the knife and instead could focus on hitting the intended target, making it much easier.

He had been wrong.

Neil just hummed, not looking away from the clouds continuously shifting formations.

“Why go by Hatford, not Wesninski?”

A dark grin flitted over Neil’s face, gone so fast Andrew wasn’t sure if he might’ve imagined it. With Neil, he sometimes wondered if he might be imagining a lot of things.

Over the last couple days, they had spent most of their time together, either in the living room or outside in the garden. After failing at the whole distance thing, Andrew had decided that learning more about Neil would certainly bring an end to whatever leftover attraction he might’ve had for the other man.

Unfortunately, Neil just became more and more interesting with every day that went by and every conversation they fell into.

And while attraction had been _fine_ , interest was potentially problematic.

“Short answer, I didn’t want anything to do with that asshole.”

Focusing on Neil, Andrew waited to see if he might go on, not wanting to push if that was all Neil wanted to give him as an answer. After several minutes, Neil took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say.

“Long answer, when my mom took me and ran”—Neil sent a quick look to make sure Andrew knew this part of his past—“we changed names all the time to make sure we couldn’t be tracked down. Together with my mom, we were the Johnsons and Heinrichs and twenty other names, nationalities, and so on. I think you get the idea.”

Neil paused, letting clouds drift by as if waiting for a new audience to be shuffled into view.

“After a while, it was getting hard to know who we were anymore.” His voice was uncharacteristically somber. “After my mom was dead, I wasn’t sure who I was. I didn’t want to be Nathan’s son. But alone, Johnson and Heinrich, and all the other names—they seemed like too much. As if I, alone, couldn’t really fill them.”

Andrew let Neil take his time, leaving it up to him how much he wanted to share.

“No home, no name, no identity. That was probably the time when I hit rock bottom.”

After a moment, Neil gestured at Andrew, eyebrows furrowed.

“Of course, you don’t know what that’s like,” he said, nodding slowly, “since you never hit anything.”

Andrew huffed, lightly kicking Neil’s ankle.

Neil grinned at Andrew before he closed his eyes for several moments. Andrew watched the rise and fall of Neil’s chest, counting his breaths.

“When Stuart offered me a place here, I accepted.”

Andrew figured the story was much more difficult than what Neil made it sound like. He wondered if Neil would tell him the full story if he asked.

“After moving here, living with the Hatford family and being grouped in with them, taking their name made sense.“ Neil blinked his eyes open once more, brows furrowed. “Plus, it’s not as if there was any other name at the time that I was particular fond of.”

Silence settled between them. Andrew closed his eyes, listening to the birds in the garden.

It seemed absurd how peaceful life was in that moment, considering where he was. And why he was here.

“My turn.” Neil’s voice interrupted the comfortable silence after so long that Andrew had almost started to drift off.

“Why did you agree to stay here? We could’ve simply called you whenever we had an update.”

Truth was, it hadn’t been up to Andrew. The NSA had been adamant that he would collect as much intelligence about the Hatfords as possible. They also hadn’t been sure if Andrew entering and leaving the UK several times in short succession might alert the Moriyamas.

“I’m not sure,” was what Andrew finally settled on. Looking over at Neil and locking eyes, he gestured at their surroundings. “But right now, I’m not complaining.”

"I did," Neil mumbled, "I complained. A lot."

"And now?"

Neil simply shook his head, an unusually soft smile playing on his lips.

Watching Neil turning back to look once more at the clouds, Andrew caught himself just before a smile of his own could break through.

Mirroring Neil, he turned his head toward the sky as well.

Staring unseeingly at the clouds above, Andrew knew he was fucked.

* * *

**July 2 | 2:52 pm GMT+1 | Deck, Hatford House, London, England**

It seemed the Hatfords had completely accepted Andrew as part of their daily routine, no longer paying him much attention as he walked through the house. Since he had access to the cameras, it had also been fairly easy to snoop around.

Because he was not as terrible at it as Neil said.

He _wasn’t_.

“Andrew!”

Looking up from his book, he saw Neil stepping through the patio doors and walking over to where Andrew was sitting on the deck under one of the sunshades.

“Today is the day.”

Andrew just raised his eyebrows, waiting for Neil to explain why he was giddily bouncing next to Andrew’s chair.

Looking over at George sitting in one of the other chairs and noticing James’ dark look from where he was standing next to one of the patio doors, Neil reigned in his excitement somewhat.

“Come on, we’re leaving.”

That did not answer anything.

“Going where?” George had apparently decided to look up from his own book and join the conversation.

Andrew could see Neil clenching his jaw.

“None of your business,” Neil said, sharply. “Come on, Andrew, let’s go.”

At Neil’s insistent voice, Andrew closed his book and got up, figuring he didn’t want to be responsible for an altercation between the two cousins.

“Who are you taking with you?” George yelled after them, but Neil ignored him as he stepped into the living room.

“Neil?” Stuart appeared in the doorway that connected the kitchen and the living room. “George is right. If you’re leaving the premises, you should take security with you.”

Neil proceeded to walk past Stuart, ignoring him completely, and toward the front door. Max, a stocky bodyguard with good humor, was already waiting at the front door. It had taken Andrew a while to figure out which guards Neil merely tolerated and which ones he respected and liked. Max was easily Neil’s favorite. Andrew figured it was because Max pretty much let Neil do whatever he wanted.

Sometimes Andrew wondered why Neil had to antagonize everyone in his own family seemingly without any reason other than because he felt like it.

Then again, the exact same thing could be said about Andrew.

Outside, a car with tinted windows was already waiting for them. While Max took the driver seat, Neil gestured to Andrew to get into the backseat, sliding in after him.

Once the doors were closed and the car had started driving, Andrew looked questioningly at Neil next to him.

“We’re going to our shooting range,” Neil said, the excitement from earlier back in full swing but voice low enough to not carry to the front of the car where the radio was playing. “Since you’re clearly not a short-range fighter, I thought we’d try long-range shooting. So today, either you can prove me wrong or you’ll embarrass yourself in yet another way. I’m fairly sure I know what will happen, but we’ll see.”

Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know why Neil was so fixated on this. Still, he appreciated getting out of the house. Cabin fever was slowly getting to him after a month. And the attentive eyes—and ears—whenever he and Neil talked, were starting to get on his nerves.

If not for Neil, he would go crazy with the various members of the Hatford family.

And wasn’t that just the most absurd thing?

If someone had told Andrew four weeks ago, that he’ll be thankful for the existence of Neil Hatford, he would have walked off, not believing it.

Getting to the shooting range took them about 15 minutes. Neil explained that it was fairly close to their house since it was located on their land but nowadays, they had to take detours to go around housing blocks and neighborhoods. Apparently, before they had struck a deal with the city for a part of their land, the entire area had been in Hatford possession. Fucking rich mobsters.

While Max took up position outside, Neil led Andrew through the entrance to the armory and to the back exit. Andrew had expected it to be an in-house range but, as it turned out, the targets were set up outside.

The sun was shining. None of the Hatford family was present (Andrew wasn’t sure when he had stopped grouping Neil in with them). And Neil was in a really good mood.

All in all, Andrew almost didn’t mind that he was complete shit at this.

He’d gotten his gun license from the agency before he went undercover. But watching Neil next to him, he had no idea how he had ever managed to convince his superiors to give him a gun.

After an hour he was pretty sure that not even a quarter of his shots had hit the target a mere 30 yards away. He did somewhat better with the closer targets but not enough for it to be safe to continue shooting whenever Neil walked to the ones further away to change the pinned-on target sheets.

Neil didn’t comment on it, but he gave Andrew a small smile every time he put down his gun as soon as Neil said that he would go over to the targets to fix them for another round.

And if Andrew’s stupid heart skipped a beat every time it happened, then no one had to know.

Because this was still fine. Perfectly harmless. Neither the distance thing nor the over-exposure thing might be working out as planned, but Andrew was still in full control. It was perfectly normal to be interested in another human being. He was sure his therapist Bee had said something along those lines at some point. Besides, it was only a problem if Andrew allowed it to be a problem.

His heart just needed to shut up. And his brain, too.

“You’re clearly not a sniper. In fact, you must be the worst shot I have ever met in this business.” Neil’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Andrew shrugged, irritated with himself but unconcerned with Neil’s comment. At this point, they both knew he wasn’t any good at this, so there was no point in arguing. It dawned on Andrew that Neil hadn’t mentioned his less than stellar capabilities in front of his family, instead blowing off George.

It made Andrew wonder why Neil would preserve Andrew’s reputation when it might be useful for his family to know that in a shootout, Andrew wouldn’t stand a chance.

“No, I’m serious.” Neil put his gun down on a nearby table, turning back to Andrew. “Okay, I’m taking a turn. Before you went rogue, were you one of those agents that just flirt with criminals until they tell them all their secrets? What are they called? Honey traps or something? Aren’t you supposed to be charming and shit?”

 _What?_ Why would Neil think—

Unsure how to respond to this, Andrew just glared at Neil.

“What?” Neil asked, confused. “Is that a no?”

“Obviously.”

Neil hummed, looking at Andrew. “You’re angry.”

“No.”

Rolling his eyes, Neil walked over to Andrew and took the gun from his hand. They were standing close, Andrew watched Neil’s gaze travel from his face to his shoulders and back to his face, settling on his eyes.

“I just thought that since there is no way you were a normal field agent, they probably used your looks.” Neil shrugged, looking at Andrew with an open expression. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“You didn’t.” Andrew said shortly, his thoughts going a mile a minute.

What did Neil mean by ‘use his looks’? Was that a good thing?

Neil started chewing on his bottom lip, his gaze flickering to where Andrew could feel heat spreading over his neck and ears. Not for the first time, Andrew cursed his pale skin that made it near impossible to hide the oncoming blush.

“Let’s go back to the house.” Not waiting for a response, Neil quickly packed up the guns he had been using while Andrew quietly collected his own. Together, they walked to the armory, putting everything back in its rightful place.

Just before they were about to walk out of the building, Neil turned to Andrew, holding out a hand in front of him, bringing him to a stop without touching.

“Andrew, I… I didn’t notice that we were out here for so long.” Neil seemed to search Andrew’s eyes. Andrew wished he knew what he was looking for. “I had fun.”

“Yeah. Being made fun of for over an hour is one of my favorite things.” Andrew was glad his voice sounded almost normal.

The corners of Neil’s mouth lifted, a smile spreading over his face. “Well, that’s good then.”

After another beat, he finally pushed through the door, waving at Max to already get in the car.

Stopping next to it, not yet opening the door to the backseat, Neil once more looked at Andrew. If Andrew didn’t know better, he would think the smile Neil was giving him almost seemed shy.

“I have stuff at the house you can put on your sunburn.”

And what was Andrew supposed to say to that?

If he accepted the lotion later at the house from Neil without comment, no one could ever know.

* * *

**July 5 | 2:11 pm GMT+1 | Living room, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew was typing furiously on his laptop that was balanced on his crossed legs. Some idiot on Twitter—what kind of username even was _whippedcreamer96_?—was claiming that chocolate chips were best put on pancakes after they were done, and Andrew could _not_ let that stand.

Neil was sitting next to him on the couch, thumbing through one of the many books lying around the room. It was a vampire romance with exceptionally bad writing if you asked Andrew. The heroine was an assortment of clichés and the supposedly dashing vampire sounded like a pretentious weakling. Judging on Neil’s frequent scoffing, he agreed with Andrew.

Focusing back on Twitter, he saw that whippedcreamer96 had started spewing nonsense about replacing flour with beans when making brownies.

Fucking heathen.

“So, you’re good with computers.”

Andrew, in the middle of a scathing response, looked up at Neil who had closed his book and was watching Andrew.

“No.”

Neil just rolled his eyes. “You’re using all fingers when you type, that means you must know something.”

“That’s your criteria?” Andrew didn’t manage to keep the incredulity from his voice.

Neil just shrugged. “So, are you or are you not?”

“Typing with all ten fingers? Evidently.”

“You’re useless.” Neil huffed. “Stay here.”

Neil promptly got up and left the room. Andrew would’ve probably walked off just to make a point, but he couldn’t help the curiosity.

(Also, it was Neil and Andrew _was_ useless.)

A couple minutes later, Neil walked back into the living room and sat down next to Andrew, presenting him with his laptop.

“The other day I wanted to do one of those excel things and it wouldn’t open the program.”

Looking from Neil’s closed laptop to his face, Andrew asked, “And what do you want me to do about it?”

“Stop being an ass.” Neil’s brows were furrowed, as if annoyed with Andrew’s dodging.

He waved the laptop right into Andrew’s face until Andrew finally took it from him. With a huff, Andrew closed his own laptop and placed Neil’s on top. Upon opening it, he saw it was password protected.

“Password?”

“Oh, right, give me.” Neil carefully reached over and managed to take the laptop without touching him.

Andrew then had to witness Neil typing his password at an excruciatingly slow speed, using a total of two fingers. Once the laptop was unlocked, he took it back, again placing it on his laptop.

“Okay, grandpa. Or should I say ‘fuckpeople2017’?”

“Fuck you, you’re not supposed to watch when someone types in their password.”

“Maybe if you didn’t have to search for every letter, I wouldn’t have been able to read along,” Andrew said, deadpan.

Every single spot on the desktop was filled with files—Andrew couldn’t help the grimace at seeing the cluttered screen and the seemingly random file names. Then again, maybe that was Neil’s way of securing his data since there was no way anyone would be able to find anything in this mess.

Opening the start menu, it took him all of three clicks to realize that Neil’s office license had run out.

_Idiot._

“You didn’t pay for your office.”

“I don’t have an office.”

Andrew just stared at Neil. Was this guy serious?

Neil just looked back, apparently genuinely confused. “That’s Stuart’s office. You know that, I told you the other day.”

“Neil.” Andrew wanted to make fun of him, but it somehow seemed heartless. He doubted that even ruthless criminal Andrew Doe would be that cruel. “I’m talking about your license for Microsoft office on your laptop. The programs, like Excel?”

“Oh!” Neil’s expression cleared in understanding. “I have a subscription for that. I got it when I bought the laptop.”

“In 2017?”

“Yes?” Neil was back to being confused. “How do you know?”

How was it possible that this person was a year younger than Andrew and knew less about technology than Bee who still had a _flip phone_.

“If it isn’t tweedledee and tweedledum of crazy murder land.”

At the new voice, Andrew and Neil looked up and watched George walking in and plopping down on the armchair to their right.

After a moment, George went on, “Stop it with the synchronized blinking. It’s fucking weird.”

“Maybe you should stop offering your girlfriend to buy her a house just so she won’t leave you,” Neil said brightly, “it’s fucking pathetic.”

Andrew could barely stop the surprised laugh. He had been watching Neil going off on pretty much every family member at this point. He had even started to join in whenever Stuart was Neil’s victim of choice—he felt he could assess Stuart’s personality the best and was 70% sure he wouldn’t set a killer on Andrew’s tail after this whole ordeal.

Andrew closed Neil’s laptop and, as if on command, they both sat up straight, got up, and left through the door to their right onto the deck outside.

“You got to stop antagonizing your cousin,” Andrew said, once they were halfway to the lounge chairs at the back of the garden.

“That’s rich, coming from you. As if starting shit isn’t your favorite hobby.” Neil grinned knowingly at Andrew. “Besides, my last information was that he had offered Charlotte a car. I had no idea he had upgraded to a house. That was a total shot in the dark.”

They continued along the pathway to the back of the garden.

“Which, for you, would probably be like a shot in bright daylight.” Neil looked over at Andrew. “Because you’re terribl–”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Neil just grinned wider, bumping his shoulder against Andrew’s.

* * *

**July 9 | 5:22 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

"Scallops."

"Sandwich," Andrew promptly responded. That one had been easy.

"Ham."

_Thump._

Neil’s knife once again hit its target.

They had been hiding in the back part of the garden for the past hour and throwing knives for the past thirty minutes, entirely on Neil’s suggestion. The conversation between them was halting, more nonsensical than anything else.

Somehow, Andrew didn’t mind.

"M...," Andrew went through various food items for a moment before grimacing, unbelieving.

"What?" Neil grinned at seeing Andrew's expression.

"Mango?"

Neil chuckled, clearly enjoying Andrew's misery.

"Shut up. It's food. I didn't say it's good food," Andrew mumbled, the handle of his knife thudding against the target and falling uselessly to the ground.

"Sure, sure." Neil threw another knife and hit a target a good eight yards away. Fucking show-off. "Onion rings."

Andrew scoffed, not impressed with Neil's choice. "That's two words."

"But it describes one item, so it counts."

Rolling his eyes, Andrew figured that it's not worth the discussion. "Soud vide chicken."

Still grinning, Neil asked, "Do you even know what that is?"

"Of course. It's a technique where you submerge chicken that is vacuum sealed in a plastic bag in a temperature-controlled water bath to cook it."

"Okay. I did not expect that," Neil said after a moment, eyebrows raised in surprise.

Andrew shrugged before admitting, "I saw it on one of Emma's cooking shows the other day."

Neil's responding laugh was carefree.

Lovely.

Andrew definitely hated it.

Grimacing at his own pathetic thoughts, he halfheartedly threw another knife.

And actually hit.

“Yes!” Neil exclaimed, jumping in the air before swatting Andrew repeatedly. “Finally!”

Andrew just glared at him, not appreciating the circus.

“Stop being grumpy, this is a celebratory moment.” Neil pushed Andrew once more, as if attempting to get Andrew to join in the celebration. “Also, fucking hell, how is it possible that you’re not moving an inch.”

As if to emphasize his point, he pushed Andrew’s shoulder with more force.

“Are you done,” Andrew grumbled.

Neil just laughed, ignoring Andrew. He still had his hand lingering on Andrew’s upper arm, squeezing slightly before finally letting go.

“Anyway,” Neil cleared his throat, stepping away and looking around them. “That was great. Let’s do it again to make sure it wasn’t just a fluke.”

“You’re a fluke,” Andrew muttered but got back in position.

Neil had decided that Andrew should try throwing knives at a closer target. ‘Closer’ being four feet. Andrew would like to think that the distance was an insult, but sadly, the number of successful hits clearly told a different story.

Still. Neil was being ridiculous.

Focusing on the target and trying to replicate the flick of his wrist from just moments ago, Andrew threw another knife.

It flew past the target and landed somewhere in the bushes.

Andrew closed his eyes and groaned. Neil, the asshole, burst out laughing.

* * *

**July 12 | 11:43 pm GMT+1 | Andrew’s room, Hatford House, London, England**

The date of the deal had been tentatively set for end of August.

When Stuart had told him and Neil earlier while they were in the kitchen eating dinner, neither of them had reacted beyond a quick nod, instead going back to discussing emergency exits from the house in case of a zombie attack. Stuart had shaken his head at them and left without further comment.

“ _It’s as if he wants us to be excited about walking into a fucking drug deal with a bunch of crazy people who won’t hesitate to open fire on us_ ,” Neil had said once Stuart had been out of earshot.

Now, sitting on his bed, he thought about how he hadn’t pointed out that that was the sole reason why he was here. Or how they had been waiting for months—literally—to have a date for a deal. Or how he would’ve had to leave soon if there hadn’t been any movement with the Butcher that promised results.

Instead, he had agreed before his brain had registered Neil’s nonsense.

While he was taking off his shoes, ready to just crawl under the sheets and go to sleep, his phone vibrated with an incoming message.

A quick look at the screen showed a message from Renee. He figured he should get the update about the August date out of the way. His cloud-like bed could wait another five minutes.

> [TODAY]
> 
> R, 11:45 pm | FOO?
> 
> A, 11:46 pm | T
> 
> R, 11:46 pm | AN T
> 
> R, 11:46 pm | DATEP
> 
> A, 11:47 pm | A
> 
> R, 11:47 pm | VULNP
> 
> A, 11:47 pm | ROOT
> 
> R, 11:47 pm | BYE?
> 
> A, 11:48 pm | BYE

* * *

**July 14 | 3:12 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

Neil and Andrew were sitting on the steps to the garden, watching Stuart and George along with their girlfriends playing a game that Andrew had never heard of before. It boiled down to all of them throwing orange-sized metallic balls in a way that got them as close as possible to a tiny ball that had rolled to about the middle of the lawn.

Neil had explained the rules and used all the correct words, but Andrew had been busy watching the sunlight hitting Neil’s hair and making it look like fire, wondering if the curls were as soft as they looked.

Needless to say, the majority of the rules had not registered in his occupied brain.

Stuart had invited them to play along but Neil declined for both of them after a quick look at Andrew. Andrew wasn’t sure if it was because Neil thought he wouldn’t be able to roll those stupid balls across the lawn or because he preferred to sit on the sideline with Andrew and give a running commentary of increasingly creative insults.

“George, stop flexing at your girlfriend, you’re in last place. It’s clear to everyone that you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Stop being an ass, Neil,” Charlotte, George’s on-again-off-again girlfriend, said sharply.

“Aw, Charlotte, you wound me.” Neil grinned at the girlfriend. It had taken Andrew a couple weeks, but he had eventually figured out that Neil actually didn’t mind Charlotte. The fact that she thought dating George was a worthwhile thing to do, notwithstanding.

“I wish.” George’s whiny voice carried across the lawn from where he had to collect one of his balls. “You’re like the fucking Tin Man with a superiority complex.”

“Better a Tin Man on a mission than a Cowardly Lion scared of the world,” Andrew said calmly, cutting off Neil before he could taunt George any further.

“Ooh, shots fired!” Neil grinned happily, tapping his knee against Andrew’s before pausing. He leaned closer to Andrew and continued in a voice too low to carry over to the group and dripping with faux innocence, “I mean, coming from you, they’re not hitting anything. But you know what I mean.”

“Okay, Statler and Waldorf over there,” Stuart yelled across the lawn at them, effectively drawing them out of their little bubble, “how about the people in the stands shut up.”

Stuart gave them what was probably supposed to be a disapproving look. Andrew and Neil, both used to very different levels of intimidation, did not react aside from giving Stuart the middle finger.

Maybe George was onto something with them acting increasingly in sync.

Then again, sitting close to a smiling Neil, their legs leaning slightly against each other, he didn’t care.

* * *

**July 17 | 7:37 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

The house was quieting down, the day guests had left for the night a while ago. Andrew was enjoying the quiet as he and Neil were lying on the lounge chairs in the garden, out of sight from anyone.

In his periphery, he noticed Neil looking over at him. After a moment, Andrew looked back, waiting for Neil to collect his thoughts.

“Do you sometimes... not know what you're feeling?” Neil’s voice was low, hesitant. “I don't mean as in ‘am I hungry or tired’. More like a full ‘what the fuck is going on’?”

Looking back at the darkening sky, Andrew thought about the moment when Wymack had first taken him in and how Andrew had felt both exhilarated and overwhelmed. He thought about finding out he had a brother and feeling both angry that his mother had taken so much away from him and hopeful that he finally found someone he might be able to trust.

He thought about meeting Neil. A conundrum since day one—fierce without being outwardly cruel, honest without being naïve, and too fucking attractive for his own good.

“Yes.” Andrew’s voice was steady. Much steadier than he was feeling after reliving those memories within the span of seconds.

“What do you do to figure it out?”

“You don't have to figure everything out. Sometimes it's enough to just feel it.” Hearing the words coming out of his own mouth, Andrew inwardly rolled his eyes at himself, thinking of Bee and how annoyingly proud she would be.

“But then how do I know what it means?”

Looking over at Neil, seeing his open expression and attentive gaze, Andrew didn't have a response for him.

“When you figure it out, let me know.”

Neil’s messy locks glinted a deep red in the setting sun, curls falling over his forehead and into his eyes. Andrew’s fingers itched to brush them back.

Neil’s look was wondrous. If Andrew didn’t know better, he would say it was almost wistful. He didn't know what Neil was thinking about but did he have to look at Andrew while doing it?

"Don't look at me like that."

Their eye contact lasted another beat before Neil finally turned his head away.

"Yeah," he mumbled, biting his bottom lip, "okay."

Andrew looked away from Neil, turning back to the sunset sky.

Taking deep breaths, he tried to ignore the fast beating of his heart. He tried to ignore the questions running through his head.

But how was Andrew supposed to ignore the fact that every second thought revolved around this stupid man lying next to him. And every other revolved around this messed up situation—because, at the end of this all, Andrew would go back to his job in his tiny dark office, surrounded by nothing but computer screens. And Neil would go to jail. Because that was the fucking plan.

At this point, he had to remind himself on a daily basis that he was here on a mission. And the mission was not getting attached to a stupid mobster son.

That thought made Andrew want to laugh at himself.

Neil. As if he would ever be interested in Andrew. Even if he was Andrew Doe. Even if he would take over the Butcher business and had an entire crime organization to offer.

What a fucking joke.

To Neil, Andrew was probably just the entertainment program. A nice break from whatever problems he had going on in his life while he was stuck in this obnoxiously large mansion. At best, he was confused because he got along with someone he had expected to despise.

And Andrew? Oh, he was confused as hell.

About why he long since stopped loathing Neil after getting to know the person behind the name. Why being with Neil felt better than any company had ever felt and didn’t drain him of all his energy. Why he didn’t mind the closeness Neil had slowly established, oblivious to what it was doing to Andrew. Why he no longer minded that he had been stuck in England for almost two months now.

Why he didn’t entirely hate the idea of _more_.

Lying there, hundreds of stars slowly becoming visible in the darkening sky, Andrew finally admitted to himself that this was a massive fucking problem.

And not the ‘this is still okay because it’s harmless’ kind of problem.

More like a full ‘what the fuck is going on’.

* * *

**July 20 | 8:37 am GMT+1 | Kitchen, Hatford House, London, England**

Walking into the kitchen, Andrew saw Neil standing at the stove, the counter cluttered with several bowls, flour, and eggshells.

“No, wait! You’re too early!” Neil turned to him, hand stretched out as if to say ‘stop’.

Andrew walked closer, ignoring Neil’s frantic attempts to get him to leave the kitchen, eyebrows raised in question. “Too early to watch you destroy the kitchen?”

“No, asshole,” Neil snapped, running a hand through his hair and getting a streak of flour mixed in with his curls.

Stopping next to Neil, he saw lumpy globs of batter sizzling in a pan, a plate standing to the side with a small pile of what appeared to be—

Andrew’s mind went blank for a moment.

Neil was making pancakes.

“Shut up, I know they’re ugly.” Neil flitted around, grabbing a spatula und lifting the side of one of the thick lumps in the pan to check the bottom. “You weren’t supposed to be here until I could pick the okay looking ones.”

Watching Neil trying—and failing—to flip one of the pancakes in the pan, Andrew realized that he was stressed. And tense.

Andrew couldn’t remember ever seeing Neil this agitated. Not when Neil had shared information about Nathan. Not when they had been introduced and Neil had promptly proceeded to point a gun at him. Not when Andrew and his colleagues had surrounded him while on his run.

He had the sudden urge to reassure Neil just so he would stop being so stressed.

Andrew had never wanted to reassure anyone.

Andrew, as a rule, wanted nothing.

Unfortunately, Neil had established himself as the sole exception to most things in Andrew’s life.

“Move over.” Andrew pushed Neil out of the way and took the spatula from Neil’s twitchy hands.

If Neil expected niceties, he was thoroughly mistaken.

Checking the lumpy batter in the bowl, he added some milk and mixed it until it finally turned smooth.

Quietly, Neil started cleaning up the mess he had created while Andrew finished the last couple pancakes. When Neil tried to take the plate with the lumpy ones, Andrew snatched it from his hands and placed the new ones onto the existing pile.

“We can just throw them out.” Neil’s voice sounded subdued, clearly upset.

“Shut up.” Andrew sighed, turning the stove off and putting the pan, spatula, bowl and spoon into the sink to clean later. That done, he turned to Neil. “Do you have anything to put on top?”

“Oh, yeah, I had Martha buy some stuff.” Deflated, Neil went over to a stuffed bag that was waiting next to the kitchen island. He started to take out maple syrup, whipped cream, an assortment of fruits, Nutella, butter, chocolate chips—shame, Andrew would’ve baked them into the pancakes—and powdered sugar.

Nodding at all of it, Andrew carried the plate of pancakes over to where Neil had already set the kitchen table.

While Neil ate mostly fruit, Andrew cleared the pile of pancakes one by one. They turned out to taste pretty good, even the more dense ones Neil had made.

When they were standing next to each other in front of the sink, Neil washing the utensils and Andrew standing ready with a towel, Neil looked up at Andrew and mumbled, “It was meant as a surprise.”

“I figured.”

Neil huffed, looking back at the bowl he was washing with frantic, choppy movements. “Yeah well, clearly that was a fail.”

“Neil.” Andrew touched Neil’s elbow before he could really think it through, making Neil pause. “I… they were good.”

Neil looked at Andrew, searching his eyes as if looking for the lie. After what felt like minutes, he took a deep breath. “Yeah?”

Andrew just nodded, belatedly realizing that his thumb was rubbing circles into Neil’s elbow.

Finally, a small smile appeared on Neil’s face. With a nod, he turned back to the sink and Andrew finally let go of his arm, taking a step back.

More confused than ever, Andrew thought about how he had never seen Neil cook for anyone. In fact, he had never witnessed Neil do anything for anyone, period. So why would he go out of his way to make breakfast for Andrew?

Drying the dishes Neil handed him and slowly putting them back into the cupboards where they belonged, he remembered that he had told Neil they were his favorite food.

Was it possible that Neil had remembered that conversation? Did he pick pancakes intentionally? But why would he do that? And why would he want to surprise Andrew?

Did it mean that Neil was interested—

No, that didn’t make sense.

Or did it?

Jesus Christ, Andrew was so confused.

He wanted to be cynical and say that Neil was playing some fucked up game with him but watching Neil cleaning the fifth bowl he had somehow managed to get dirty, that thought just didn’t seem right.

He wanted to scoff at himself. Neil was a criminal, for fuck’s sake. He was probably capable of anything.

But playing Andrew like that? That’s not who Neil was.

It _wasn’t_.

Right?

* * *

**July 24 | 2:16 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

It seemed that everyone was busy with mob business, so Andrew decided to give his search for the mikes in his room another shot. He was still missing ten mikes and that just wouldn’t do.

Carrying his laptop out to the empty lounge area in the back part of the garden, he sat down on what had slowly become his favorite lounge chair and got comfortable. With his laptop open on his lap, he looked around to make sure he was truly by himself while the security software of the Hatfords was loading on his screen.

He had noticed that this was the only chair that offered an almost complete view of the area around him and had promptly claimed it as his. It was also the one he had seen Neil use on several occasions and if exit-twitchy Neil deemed this the best chair, Andrew figured it was probably good enough for him as well.

“What are you doing?”

Fucking hell—

Andrew took a deep breath, relaxing the muscles that had instinctively locked up at the unexpected voice.

Honestly, fuck Neil and his freaky ninja skills.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he figured that at least he hadn’t jumped up from his chair like a complete moron.

Looking up, he watched Neil rounding the last corner of the pathway leading to the lounge area. His glare was answered with a tiny smirk, making Neil look like the arrogant fucker that he was.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting that you have terrible awareness of your surroundings.” Plopping down on the same lounge chair next to Andrew, effectively taking up half of the space, his smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “You should work on that.”

“And you should shut up,” Andrew grumbled, trying to ignore Neil’s warmth where their thighs were pressed against each other.

“Strong comeback.” Neil nodded, as if to mollify Andrew. “So, what evil things are you up to all alone where no one can see?”

“I'm trying to pinpoint the mikes in my room.” The words were out before he could stop them.

He really needed to work on keeping his mouth shut around Neil. In his defense, though, Neil was wearing the form-fitting jeans again and none of his agency training had prepared him for that.

“With your laptop? From the garden?” Neil raised an eyebrow, voice laced with amusement. “You know, you're still a fairly impressive criminal even if you can't find all of them.”

Andrew hoped his flat stare was answer enough but all it did was make Neil laugh.

“Funny.” Andrew’s voice was as deadpan as he could make it with a laughing Neil pressed against his side. “I'm checking the data logs in your system to see if I can find any location descriptors embedded in the files.”

“What?” Neil’s brows were furrowed, voice full of confusion.

“Oh Neil,” Andrew said with as much sarcasm as he could manage, “you know, you're still a fairly impressive crime family even if you can't keep me out of your security system.”

“You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke.”

“Shut up. Are you serious about hacking our system?”

Neil leaned over Andrew as if looking at his screen would tell him anything.

Andrew scoffed. “I cracked your system within minutes weeks ago.”

Neil leaned back, staring at Andrew slack jawed.

“Look, Stuart is going against his diet again.” Andrew helpfully pointed at a video feed on his screen where Stuart could be seen standing near the front door, quickly stuffing a sandwich into his mouth.

“This shouldn’t be possible. How did you get in there?”

“What, like it’s hard?”

“Yes?”

Rolling his eyes at Neil’s complete ignorance of modern pop culture, Andrew turned the screen back toward himself and started going through each audio file.

“What are you doing?”

“Like I said, I’m searching the files for any indication of the location of the transmitters.”

Andrew focused on his laptop for a while, trying different search keys with no luck. This was a mess.

It took him a moment to realize that Neil had gone silent. Looking up, he found Neil’s eyes still on him, a mix between disbelieve and awe clear on his face.

“What?” Andrew grumbled, not in the mood for Neil’s idiocy right that moment.

“You surprised me.” Voice low and all traces of sarcasm gone, Neil sounded as if he was trusting Andrew with a secret.

Silence settled between them, as Andrew watched Neil’s eyes dance over his face. His eyes, nose, lips, before snapping back to his eyes.

“Is that a good thing?” Andrew asked, more interested in the answer than he was willing to admit.

After a beat, a smile spread on Neil’s face. “That you managed to hack our security system?”

Before Andrew could respond, Neil’s face fell, eyes going wide.

“You... managed to hack our security system.”

Andrew shrugged. For a second he wondered if he shouldn’t have told Neil but then decided that Neil likely didn’t care.

He didn't have to wait long for his guess to be confirmed.

“What if someone else can do that? What if Nathan or the Moriyamas or literally anyone else is inside our security right now?”

“Stop panicking, there's no one else.”

“I'm not panicking. I’m concerned,” Neil snapped, “which is a very sensible reaction.”

“You never once had a sensible reaction in your life.” Andrew rolled his eyes at Neil, scoffing. “Besides, you’re twitching. You only do that when you're about to panic.”

Neil furrowed his brows. “I don't twitch.”

Andrew just gave him a flat stare.

“...much.”

Taking a deep breath, Neil pulled the long sleeves of his shirt over his hands and settled more comfortably into the lounge chair and, thereby, against Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or not.

Looking across the empty garden around them, Neil finally asked in a low voice, “How do you know there is no one else.”

“Easy. I checked the logbook for any logins, open or covert, and unless you have a Moriyama sitting in your security room, there has been no outside access other than from me.”

“What if they have access to your laptop, then you wouldn't know.”

Andrew just gave Neil a disgusted look. “What kind of amateur do you think I am.”

“I just…,” Neil deflated, seemingly at a loss for words, “I didn't know you could do that. I mean, just yesterday you threw a knife past a target not five feet away.”

“And you shake your phone when your WiFi disconnects.”

Neil looked at him sheepish. “I mean maybe the wires just... need to rearrange or something. I don't know, okay?”

“Clearly.”

“Shut up.” He bumped Andrew’s shoulder. “Okay, so we’re safe. Except from you.”

Andrew nodded, wondering at how easily Neil had accepted his word as fact.

“So, if you hacked our security and can see all cameras and mikes, then what's the problem.”

“I can access each camera, and every audio.” Andrew demonstrated it to Neil on his laptop, switching through the various files. “But there is no location stamp on the audio pieces. So I know they're there. But I don't know where exactly they're hidden.”

“Why?”

“Because whoever set up your security system didn’t bother to catalog your taps by literally any data point whatsoever.”

Andrew scrolled aimlessly up and down, trying to come up with a new idea.

“I tried making noise in the different parts of my room to see if it's louder on the audio files, but it's not really working since I can't listen and make noise at the same...”

An idea dawned on Andrew, looking up at Neil. Raising his eyebrows, he waited for Neil to catch up.

After a second, Neil huffed, rolling his eyes. “I'm not going to walk through your room making noise closer to the mikes.”

“Why not?”

Neil just raised an eyebrow at Andrew but didn’t elaborate. “Can’t you just turn them off? Problem solved.”

“I can disable them in the system, but your security personnel might notice that they've been scrambled, indicating that someone was in their system.” Andrew still doubted the Hatford security was good enough to notice any manipulation to their software but didn’t feel like risking it. “Plus, if I turn them off, how am I supposed to figure out where they are hidden.”

Neil groaned, falling back against the back of the lounge chair.

“So, this is really just about you being curious.”

Andrew shrugged, watching Neil sprawled out next to him. His shirt had ridden up, the sliver of abs he could see entirely too distracting.

“It's interesting,” Andrew mumbled, absently.

His eyes slowly moved over Neil's chest to his lips and eyes, finding Neil's eyes still on him.

“I'm not going to enable your hacker tendencies.”

A beat too late, Andrew shrugged again before turning back to his laptop, trying to focus on the screen.

“You make no sense.”

At Neil’s quiet words, Andrew looked back down at him.

“You have the reputation of a ruthless criminal, going around the world and making deals with the scum of humanity.” Neil’s look was assessing, eyes slightly narrowed as he took in Andrew hunched over his laptop. “To me, you look like someone who feels most comfortable hidden in some dark room surrounded by a dozen screens, hacking security systems for fun. Maybe with an evil laugh here and there at people’s stupidity.”

Not breaking eye contact, Andrew was stunned at the easy assessment of himself. Everyone always thought he was violent, that he enjoyed going after people and hurting them. How was it possible that Neil had so easily looked through him? How did he know Andrew better than people who had known him for years?

Not ready to address any of the truths Neil had just thrown at him, he finally responded, “Did you just call yourself the scum of humanity?”

The corners of Neil’s lips lifted the tiniest bit, not quite turning into a full smile just yet.

“You don’t think I am?” The question sounded almost challenging.

“I think,” Andrew responded quietly, “you don’t add up. You want people to believe you’re the head of the family, calling the shots, when in reality you couldn’t care less.” Gesturing at his laptop, he continued, “The reason why you won’t help me is not because you want to keep your family’s surveillance of me in place. You’re doing it because you think it’s entertaining.”

Neither of them looked away as the seconds ticked by.

Neither of them disagreed with the other.

* * *

**July 27 | 8:17 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew was watching the sky above shifting from light blue to pink to a dark lavender. He and Neil had been lying on the lounge chairs for the past two hours, neither of them saying much.

Instead, they enjoyed the quiet away from the other occupants of the house. The whispers of their conversations that always found their way through the trees had finally receded as they had gone inside for dinner about an hour ago.

Neil was the quietest person he knew, certainly in this house. He couldn’t decide if it was comforting or disconcerting to know someone who was as content with silence as he was.

He couldn’t help the fleeting thought that he wouldn’t mind getting used to it.

Letting his gaze drift across the garden, Andrew noticed Neil’s eyes on him.

“Staring.”

Neil just shrugged, not deterred. With a low voice, he asked, “Do you sometimes wish you were more...,” he trailed off, brows furrowed, “more brave? Just… more?”

Andrew hadn’t expected that. Sometimes, Neil surprised Andrew with where he took conversations and the things he thought about.

It was one of the many things Andrew hated about Neil.

Thoughts running through his head, Andrew steadily looked back at Neil.

He thought about getting his brother away from Tilda and helping him pursue his dreams all the way to his current position as an army doctor.

He thought about getting Nicky away from his abusive parents, the three of them living together for a while even though Nicky had no concept of privacy. Much less understanding Andrew’s particular need for privacy and space.

He thought about his promise to Kevin to protect him.

About leaving everything behind, risking his life just so that Kevin—his friend, Andrew thought reluctantly—could finally put his demons to rest and sleep through a night without panic attacks for once in his life.

But he also thought about leaving his brother with Tilda for several years after he had found out about him because he wasn’t ready for a sibling.

He thought about not coming out to Nicky because he wasn’t ready to share something so personal about himself even though it would mean the world to his cousin.

He thought about declining a meeting with the Butcher crew more than two years ago when they hadn’t known yet where the Butcher fit in. Because they had demanded Andrew come by himself and he had been quick to decline, not feeling ready and still too new to this world that worked in the dark.

He thought about Neil. A paradox of cutting words and quiet comfort. A pipe dream, too good to be true. A problem in an already fucked up situation.

“Sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Neil whispered, gaze locked with Andrew’s.

Slowly, Neil’s head turned back to the sky, staring at the stars instead.


	5. Chapter 5—Andrew

> **bravery**
> 
> _noun_ | mental or moral strength to face danger, fear or difficulty; also: courage to hand over part of yourself

* * *

**July 30 | 10:03 pm GMT+1 | Deck, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew was sitting on the steps to the garden, the light from inside illuminating the deck behind him while the moon was hidden behind clouds, when Neil came storming out. The house had been empty due to a big Hatford meeting with the exception of a handful of customary guards to ensure that Andrew didn't cause trouble.

Joke’s on them. He had given up on snooping and eavesdropping a while ago, instead relying on Neil's summaries. His scathing commentary and insider information whenever the Hatfords had an exclusive get-together were far more entertaining, anyway.

Neil stomped over and plopped down on the same step next to Andrew, frustration almost tangible as it radiated off him.

Andrew watched Neil out of the corner of his eye, planning on waiting him out.

Neil was wringing his hands, brows furrowed, blinking quickly, eyes roaming over the dark garden as if searching for whoever had done him wrong. He was taking deep breaths, probably trying to bring his too quick breathing under control.

After several minutes, bored with watching Neil fuming quietly, Andrew moved his right leg slightly so he could bump it against Neil's.

“Stop it.”

Neil simply glared at Andrew.

“Stop worrying. It’s not going to make a difference.” Andrew bumped their legs once more, leaving his leg leaning against Neil.

Neil scoffed, rolling his eyes at Andrew. “Whatever.”

Andrew kept watching Neil. Now that he had gotten him out of his head, he knew that Neil would continue talking eventually.

“We took a vote on something and they went for Dickface's suggestion.”

Ah, Neil's never-ending feud with Theobald the Third. It had taken Andrew a while to figure out that whenever Neil talked about someone with a name ranging from odd to hateful it was always the same guy—Theobald Archibald Humbuck the Third. Andrew wasn’t sure if that was the guy's actual name or if Neil had just made fun of him, but Andrew figured the name fit either way.

“And it's the wrong decision?”

“It's the safe decision. Because apparently taking risks is no longer an option.” Neil locked eyes with Andrew. “I just think that sometimes it's okay to take a risk, you know?”

Neil was looking at Andrew imploringly, as if daring Andrew to disagree. Andrew knew plenty about taking risks. He had had to fight a lot of people to be here, unsure if it would pay off in the end.

“What are you going to do about it?”

Neil's gaze was heavy, searching Andrew's eyes before looking back out to the garden, slowly nodding to himself.

Andrew wondered what he'd seen in his eyes.

When Neil didn’t say anything, Andrew went on, “I told you, you’re too rebellious. You keep asking these people for something they’re not ready to give you.”

He could tell that Neil was going in circles in his head.

"Neil, they'll come around. And if not, and it blows up in their faces, you’ll get to tell them that you've told them so."

He saw Neil's lips twitch. Satisfied for the moment, Andrew leaned back on his hands, watching the clouds drift across the dark sky. Their legs were still pressed against each other, a single point of warmth in the chilling night.

In his periphery, Neil was rolling his shoulders, the tension slowly leaving his rigid back.

Andrew could see him glancing over to him, repeatedly running his hand through his hair.

When Neil turned back to the garden, Andrew figured the moment was over. He was not expecting to feel Neil’s hand gently tapping his right hand that was resting on the porch between them.

Confused, Andrew looked at the side of Neil’s face and lifted his hand just a bit from the stone step.

Not looking back, Neil slowly hooked his pinkie finger around Andrew's before laying their linked hands back down onto the step. From the side, Andrew could see Neil’s slightly too wide eyes were locked onto the ground in front of him.

What did this mean?

Raising his eyebrows but not pulling his hand away, Andrew once more waited Neil out.

Finally, after a deep breath, Neil looked up at Andrew, hesitation clear in his eyes.

"Okay?" He whispered, as if afraid of Andrew's reaction.

_Okay?_

Was Andrew okay?

Was _this_ okay?

With his stupid heart going into overdrive, Andrew wondered if it meant that Neil wanted this? With _Andrew_?

Looking into Neil’s hopeful eyes felt as if the stone steps Andrew was sitting on had disappeared, leaving him hanging in the moment between holding on and falling into the void.

He wanted to push Neil away and pull him closer. He wanted to tell Neil who he really was and what mess they were in. He wanted to take Neil and run off so no one would be able to find them.

But most of all, he didn’t want this moment to end.

Most things in Andrew’s life had been temporary. So it made an awful lot of sense that the one guy that understood him, _saw him_ , would be someone that would ultimately be taken away from him as well.

Taking a deep breath, Andrew finally asked, "Is this you taking a risk because you’re frustrated with your family?"

"No." Brows furrowed, Neil's voice was defiant, as if insulted by Andrew's question.

Staring down at their linked fingers, Andrew huffed at Neil's response, not willing to accept it just yet.

"Say that again tomorrow when you've calmed down."

"Okay, I will."

Andrew rolled his eyes at Neil, expecting him to leave now that he'd gone and crossed the tentative line Andrew had fought hard to maintain over the last couple weeks.

A line Andrew had thought only he had been aware of. And since when was Neil even interested in Andrew? Thinking back to the last two months, it didn’t make sense.

To his surprise, Neil stayed, sitting next to Andrew, legs leaning against each other, pinkie fingers still linked.

They didn't get up for another twenty minutes until they could hear voices from the rest of the Hatfords coming closer.

* * *

**July 31 | 9:49 am GMT+1 | Hatford shooting range, London, England**

“Watch this.” Neil loaded the crossbow with a new arrow. It was a strange sequence of steps that Andrew couldn’t quite follow, too distracted by his wandering thoughts.

Since Neil had collected him at breakfast to go to the shooting range, there had been no mention of last night. Andrew tried to not let it bother him but couldn’t help the weird empty feeling in his stomach.

He blamed it on a night spent tossing and turning, unable to shut off his mind, stuck on too many ‘what ifs’.

(Bee would probably call it something stupid like ‘disappointment’ but that was ridiculous since it would imply that Andrew didn’t get something that he had wanted. And he wanted nothing. Everyone at home knew that.)

Trying to focus on the present, he watched as Neil looked up once before raising the crossbow and, seemingly without aiming, shot straight at the 40-yard target, hitting the red marker in the middle.

Looking from the target to Neil, he found him already watching Andrew, a proud grin firmly in place.

Andrew clapped once, causing Neil to laugh out loud.

“Watch, I’ll do 50.”

Again, he went through the sequence of loading the crossbow, complete with pointing it at the ground, clicking switches, and more.

He looked up toward the target but stopped short of raising the crossbow.

“Wait, uhm.” Turning to Andrew, he reached over with his left hand and tapped gently against Andrew’s until he spread his fingers enough for Neil to be able to link their index fingers.

“For good luck.” After a wink that was too stilted to be considered flirty, he raised the crossbow and hit the target.

Bullseye.

Andrew kept his eyes on the target, wondering what he should do.

The empty feeling from a moment ago was gone, his stomach seemingly filling with stupid bubbles, expanding and bursting and moving all over the place. The weird sensation was spreading throughout the rest of his body, his hands starting to sweat and feet turning restless.

He was holding Neil’s hand.

Rationally, he knew that if he wanted to stop this—whatever _this_ was—he had to do it now. But the thought was barely registering, Andrew’s mind too scrambled.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Neil looking at him, the fingers of his right hand fidgeting with the crossbow.

Looking down at their hands, Andrew tried to think past the chaos in his head and make sense of the feeling of someone’s hand in his.

It felt breakable, so easy to be taken away.

“It’s not because I’m frustrated with my family.” Neil’s voice was quiet.

Andrew nodded, still watching their linked hands.

“You were,” Andrew finally said, his voice low, “frustrated. Last night.”

“Yeah ok, I was,” Neil admitted, nibbling his bottom lip nervously.

Andrew looked up, daring him to already take this away again.

“But I didn't do it because I was frustrated. I was frustrated because I wanted to do it and didn’t know how,” Neil whispered, slightly pulling on Andrew’s hand. “And because I wasn’t sure if you would be okay with it.”

_Oh._

Andrew nodded, dazed, watching Neil’s eyes flicker over Andrew’s face before finally settling on his eyes.

“I am,” Andrew felt the need to let Neil know, to make sure there were no misunderstandings, “okay with it.”

“Good.” Neil pulled once more on Andrew’s hand until he stepped closer, barely leaving any space between them.

Neil smiled at him. And Andrew almost smiled back.

He wanted to count the freckles across Neil’s nose and cheeks. He wanted to trace the scar on his right cheek with his fingers. He wanted to get used to Neil being close. He _wanted_.

He remembered Bee saying, ‘ _it is okay to want things for yourself_ ’. Maybe she had been right after all.

For the moment, he settled on, “So what is your grand plan now?”

“Huh?”

Andrew gestured around them, trying to convey their situation, their jobs.

“Oh.” Neil blinked at Andrew. “I didn’t actually think past taking your hand.”

Idiot.

* * *

**July 31 | 11:37 pm GMT+1 | Andrew’s room, Hatford House, London, England**

Sitting on his bed, Andrew’s mind was playing a loop of him holding Neil’s hand.

At some point they had fully intertwined their fingers, Neil’s slender ones fitting perfectly between his. The feeling had been both strange and exhilarating.

Andrew thought about how he now knew that Neil’s hands were a bit calloused, not surprising given Neil’s propensity to work with all sorts of weapons all day, but still exciting to have found out this way.

Shaking his head, he tried to focus on the issue at hand. Mainly, that Neil would go to prison. And Andrew was going to put him there.

And while that might’ve been the ending Andrew had wanted to see a couple months ago, it wasn’t today. If he was honest, it hadn’t been the ending Andrew had wanted to see for a couple weeks. He just hadn’t been ready to accept the seriousness of the situation.

But just thinking about watching his colleagues handcuffing Neil had Andrew’s chest tightening.

No. That was not an option.

He felt his phone in his pocket vibrate.

> [TODAY]
> 
> R, 11:43 pm | FOO?
> 
> A, 11:45 pm | T
> 
> R, 11:45 pm | AN T
> 
> R, 11:45 pm | DATEP
> 
> A, 11:47 pm | A

Confirming August for the umpteenth time now felt repetitive and wholly irrelevant given Andrew’s mindfuck of a current situation.

> R, 11:47 pm | VULNP

Fucking hell, Renee. No, he wasn’t compromised. He could fucking look after himself.

Taking a deep breath, he could admit that he wasn’t actually annoyed with Renee.

Especially since that was the agreed upon question according to their protocol.

Andrew looked down at the screen, Renee’s message waiting for a reply. He tilted his head from left to right, trying to make up his mind whether he should be honest or just stick to the easy answer.

> A, 11:51 pm | POM

There. Going for honesty. Let’s see what Renee was going to do with what basically boiled down to ‘so-so’.

> R, 11:51 pm | WALL

‘What?!’

Okay, Andrew should’ve seen that reaction coming.

Taking a deep breath, he could feel his energy waning. He did not feel like explaining the mess with Neil.

> A, 11:53 pm | NVM

‘Nevermind.’

> R, 11:53 pm | VULNP

Renee was a good one, Andrew thought to himself. She knew when to let things go.

> A, 11:54 pm | ROOT
> 
> R, 11:54 pm | BYE?
> 
> A, 11:54 pm | BYE

Phone still in hand, Andrew thought about what to do.

There was no way that Neil was as bad as the rumors made him out to be. The guy might’ve been raised by killers, he might've even killed someone at some point, but who hadn’t in this line of business?

Okay, that was a terrible defense.

Still. He had seen Neil get flustered when reading a stupid vampire romance book. He had challenged Andrew that whoever found the fluffiest cloud didn’t have to prepare dinner. The guy had made pancakes for him, for fuck’s sake.

Andrew was painfully aware that none of this meant Neil was innocent.

Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths, trying to calm the thoughts running rampant in his head.

Neil had shared all kinds of information with Andrew about the Butcher and the Moriyamas. That was valuable. Maybe it could be counted toward reducing his sentence.

Ideally to zero.

Especially since what Neil really needed was protection. In fact, they should bring him in as a witness and then put him in witness protection with WITSEC. Maybe Neil would let Andrew know where they placed him. Neil seemed like the type to go around the system and signal his new identity.

And if not, if he didn’t want Andrew to be able to find him, then at least Neil was safe.

Andrew could live with that.

He quickly logged into the Hatford security system to turn the volume of the audio transmitters in his room down to zero, figuring no one would notice if they were essentially disabled for a couple minutes.

Calling Wymack’s number for the first time in months, his boss picked up after the first ring.

“ _Why did Renee just come in here fretting about you?_ ”

“I told her ‘nevermind’,” Andrew responded, both annoyed and thankful for having a team that always tried to have his back.

“ _Then why are you calling me._ ” Wymack’s gruff voice shouldn’t be calming but still was.

“I need you to look into extenuating circumstances for Neil Hatford.”

A beat of silence.

“ _You’re shitting me._ ”

“Just fucking do it,” Andrew ground out.

“ _Andrew._ ” There was a deep sigh coming from Wymack’s end of the line. “ _Give me a reason._ ”

“Because he is helping us with valuable information about the Butcher and the Moriyamas.”

“ _That’s called information extraction and is part of your job._ ”

“No, he’s offering willingly.”

“ _Did he offer it as a mitigating factor? Andrew, how much does he know about you?_ ” Wymack’s voice turned serious.

“No,” Andrew reluctantly admitted, “but he will. Maybe he’s a candidate for WITSEC.”

“ _Explain it to me._ ”

“I can’t.” Andrew didn’t know what to say. Why couldn’t Wymack just do his fucking job?

“ _Andrew._ ”

“Stop Andrew-ing me. Just fucking do it.”

“ _Are you safe?_ ”

Wymack sounded concerned. Massaging his temple, Andrew could count the number of times Wymack had been concerned about Andrew on one hand. Mostly because Wymack knew better than to baby Andrew. But also because Andrew usually didn’t give anyone any reason to be concerned.

It made him wonder what he must sound like to Wymack.

“Yes,” Andrew finally said, “just… just look into it?”

“ _Okay, Andrew, we’ll look into it._ ” Wymack’s voice was slow, clearly trying to calm Andrew down.

Andrew wanted to hate it but couldn’t muster up the energy.

“Okay, I got to go,” he finally mumbled.

“ _Okay._ ” Wymack sounded ten years older than at the beginning of the call. “ _Renee will let you know when we have something._ ”

Andrew hung up, turned the fucking mikes in his room back on, and fell back on the bed.

He didn’t move for another hour.

* * *

**August 3 | 1:14 pm GMT+1 | Kitchen, Hatford House, London, England**

Neil was cutting their pizza into eight equal pieces when Andrew’s phone vibrated in his pocket, signaling a text message.

They were both leaning against the kitchen counter, hands linked between them and arms pressed against each other. Even though they didn’t talk about it, they had fallen into a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Neil somehow always knew when Andrew needed space and Andrew, in turn, didn’t push for anything Neil might not be comfortable with—yet or never, Andrew couldn’t tell.

Surprisingly, he was okay with that. For Andrew, there was so much uncertainty and too many unspoken words standing between them to rush into anything.

Every touch, every smile already felt dangerous in the face of Neil’s impending arrest.

Not willing to go down that road again, he fished his phone from his jeans.

> [TODAY]
> 
> R, 1:14 pm | FOO?

Furrowing his brows, he was tempted to tell Renee that he didn’t have time. For a second he thought she might have an update on WITSEC but given the simple conversation starter with no other indication, Andrew figured it was more likely that it was Renee’s regular check-in.

“Everything okay?” Neil’s voice had him looking up to where Neil was still holding the pizza cutter, not moving away from Andrew even though he was clearly done.

“Yeah, just my men,” Andrew responded, reluctantly letting go of Neil’s left hand. He watched Neil walk to the sink and only managed to tear his eyes away when Neil had already dropped the pizza cutter in the sink and was on his way back.

> A, 1:17 pm | NIL

In his mind, he vowed to text Renee later.

He wanted to reach out and pull Neil back in but knew they had to be careful inside the house and around Neil’s family.

Andrew doubted they would take kindly to finding out that there was something going on between them.

Whatever this _something_ was.

* * *

**August 5 | 5:37 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

Watching Neil handle knives was always somewhat surreal to Andrew. Neil didn’t stop joking around, but there was still a slight shift in his demeanor. As if the mere presence of a knife had him on edge.

Realizing the pun, Andrew made a mental note to use it with Neil next time he had a chance.

Another knife thudded into place, bringing Andrew’s attention back to the moment.

He was supposed to join in but in all honesty, they both knew he would never manage to hit the target hanging 12 feet away from them.

After another halfhearted and obviously failed attempt from Andrew, Neil sighed next to him.

“No, from the wrist.” How Neil wasn’t tired yet of pointing this out, Andrew didn’t know. “You're using your arm too much.”

Andrew grunted, trying again. Again not hitting the target.

After making sure Andrew didn't have any knives left, Neil went to pick up the ones Andrew had thrown into the bush behind the target. After depositing them on the ground next to their bag, he walked over to Andrew.

“Why are you so bad at this.” Amusement danced in his eyes.

Andrew just gave him a flat look which, sadly, had no effect on Neil. Stupid mob boss son.

Neil reached for Andrew’s right forearm, his fingers slowly trailing over the outlines of his sheaths, faintly visible through the fabric of his shirt. When he reached the end of his sleeve, he gently took Andrew’s wrist in his hands and, moving it this way and that, tried for the umpteenth time to show him the flicking movement.

Andrew watched the focused look in Neil’s eyes and his relaxed posture. Aware of how close they were standing, Andrew on eyelevel with Neil’s lips and the ghost of Neil’s fingers still tingling on his arm, Andrew could almost feel his brain short-circuiting.

“Why are you so tense?”

“Why are you so stupid?”

Neil rolled his eyes which only made Andrew glare harder. How dare this idiot be relaxed when Andrew was all up in knots.

“I’m taking a turn.” Neil interlaced his fingers with Andrew’s, letting their linked hands drop to their sides. “What’s the most tense situation you’ve ever been in?”

Andrew didn’t have to think before answering, “Walking out of the government building with the data on my external drive.”

“You know,” Neil said after a moment of silence between them, brows furrowed, “I know you’re really smart. But sometimes I forget that you literally stole government data because you used to be some high-ranking agency person or something.”

Was that an insult?

Neil tagged on, “I think that’s really impressive and… uhm,” his eyes slowly drifted to Andrew’s chest and down his arm before landing on their linked hands, “good, uhm, it’s really good.”

Andrew wasn’t sure what to do with that information so he pushed it to the back of his mind where it could run in circles with all the other things Neil had said to him over the last couple weeks. Out loud, he settled on, “What about you?”

“Probably when Nathan caught up to my mom and me. They initially tried to capture us but ended up killing my mom. Somehow, I managed to get away with barely a scratch. I think I only had a broken wrist, a stab wound and a couple cuts.”

Barely a scratch? Fucking hell, what was wrong with this guy.

Andrew watched Neil reach up to his face, tracing the scar running across his cheek.

After Neil dropped his hand again, Andrew himself reached out and let his hand hover near Neil’s cheek, hesitating to touch unless Neil felt comfortable with it.

After a short nod, he cupped Neil’s cheek, tracing the scar with his thumb. Neil turned his head into Andrews hand, not breaking eye contact.

Andrew watched the gray dots in Neil’s blue eyes. Maybe one day he could count them.

“I want to kiss you,” Andrew whispered into the space between them, unable to stop himself. “Yes?”

Neil’s whispered ‘yes’ was more breath than word.

Andrew moved his hand to the back of Neil’s neck, pulling him down to close the last couple inches and brush his lips gently against Neil’s.

It was a simple kiss, nothing more than a press of lips. And still, it felt as if everything around them dropped away.

The only thing Andrew could feel were Neil’s lips against his own.

The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat going crazy.

And the only thing he knew was that he would not let anyone take this away from him.

* * *

**August 7 | 8:12 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

“There is something wrong with Stuart’s computer.”

Andrew merely hummed, too occupied by Neil’s soft locks curling around his fingers as he was carding through them over and over.

They were even softer than he had thought.

They were sharing a lounge chair, the light fading around them as night was setting in. Turned toward each other, they both had their heads propped up on their elbows, knees touching lightly. While Neil’s other hand was curled to his front, Andrew had let his fingers slowly trace along Neil’s silhouette.

From his hips, over the soft skin on his waist where his shirt had ridden up the tiniest bit, to his ribcage and over his shoulder, along his neck and finally into his hair.

“I told him that you could take a look at it.”

Blinking, Andrew paused in his movements and instead tried to make sense of what Neil had just said. “You did what?”

Pressing his head gently into Andrew’s hand as if saying ‘why did you stop’, Neil explained, “I told Stuart that you’re really good with that kind of stuff and could take a look at his computer to fix it.”

If Neil asked him, he would take a look at the computer (what else was he supposed to do? Say no?), but he doubted Stuart would be willing to give him access.

Raising an eyebrow at Neil’s naivety, Andrew asked, “And what did he say?”

“He stared at me as if I was crazy.” Neil huffed. “I told them that you’ve fixed my laptop after I downloaded that weird virus the other day.” Rolling his eyes, he added, “Let’s just say, they were not convinced. Or happy that I gave you my laptop.”

Andrew couldn’t help thinking gleefully about how George had probably thrown a hissy fit because his precious security system might’ve been compromised. Or James, the creepy fucker, going green in the face because Neil had trusted Andrew with his laptop. For that alone it might’ve been worth it that Neil had talked to his family about Andrew, potentially implying their closeness.

That would also explain why he had recently been receiving more looks promising death and violence than at the beginning of his stay here, especially from certain members of the Hatford family and household.

Moving his hand to the back of Neil’s head, Andrew started playing with the short hair, watching Neil close his eyes, humming happily.

“Good?”

“Mmh.” Neil slowly opened his eyes again, lips stretching into a lazy smile. He carefully reached for Andrew’s wrist, running his thumb over the back of Andrew’s hand and along the hem of his sleeve, before trailing his fingers down his forearm and resting his hand on his elbow. “You?”

Andrew just nodded, at a loss for words, and let silence settle over them.

After a few minutes, Neil turned his head slightly, burying his face against Andrew’s wrist. With the sheaths and knives strapped to Andrew’s forearm, it couldn’t be comfortable, but Neil seemed content, so Andrew didn’t question it.

“I don’t get what their problem is. I’m tired of them talking shit about you,” Neil mumbled into Andrew’s arm, brows furrowed. “And what do they think you would do with the computer, anyway. It’s not as if you’re going to take the computer and run away with it.”

Andrew inwardly rolled his eyes at Neil. “I could install a virus that could spread through your network. Or a tracker. Or program a security gap that lets me access the computer remotely to spy on Stuart.”

Halfway through his ideas, Neil had opened his eyes and was looking at Andrew disbelievingly.

“Would you?”

“Probably not.” Andrew’s team had thought about tapping the communication lines in the house and cracking the computers to get access to their files, but they weren’t entirely clear on the legal situation since the UK was not in their jurisdiction.

“Stop trying to be mysterious by being vague.” Neil squeezed Andrew’s elbow, eyes narrowed slightly. “And it’s not as if you couldn’t just ask me if there was something you wanted to know.”

Squeezing the back of Neil’s head in retaliation, Andrew responded, “But what if there is something truly nefarious on Stuart’s computer. Maybe an embarrassing script idea for a dating show he wants to pitch to the major TV broadcasters in order to become rich and famous. Or maybe he has folders full of terrible straight porn.”

Andrew had meant it as a joke at Stuart’s expense, but instead of joining in, Neil chuckled awkwardly, eyes downcast. He could’ve sworn he felt the skin under his hand heating up.

“Are you into that?” Neil’s voice was low, his eyes not meeting Andrew’s.

“Stuart’s new idea for a trashy dating show?”

That earned him a glare.

“Oh, you mean terrible straight porn.”

“Drew.”

Carding his fingers back into the longer locks, pulling gently, Andrew finally answered, “No.”

“So…,” Neil’s eyes were roaming over his face, finally settling on his lips, “are you, uhm…”

“Gay? Yes.” Looking at Neil, the words had come easier than Andrew was used to. Only very few people knew about Andrew’s sexuality, and a handful more probably suspected it. He had struggled long and hard before he had been able to accept this about himself and while, nowadays, he didn’t hide it per se, he also didn’t walk around advertising it to everyone.

“Oh, okay,” Neil hesitated for a moment, “I’m not, I think.”

At Andrew’s silence, he continued, “I’ve never been interested in anyone. I mean… until you.” Finally looking up into Andrew’s eyes, he added in a whisper, “Is that okay?”

In that moment, with the last rays of sunlight glinting off Neil’s hair and his body turned toward Andrew, open and defenseless, Andrew wanted to tell him that he was too trusting. That he was being too vulnerable.

Instead, he carefully pulled Neil closer until there was no space left between them. Closing his eyes at the last moment, he found Neil’s lips, soft and eager against his own. Pushing further against Neil, he went up on his forearm so he could lean over him.

Pulling back a fraction, barely enough to look Neil in the eyes, he whispered, “Of course it is.”

* * *

**August 8 | 1:29 am GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

Something hit his face, ripping Andrew from his sleep and causing him to lash out at whoever was attacking him. Just as his fist made contact with something solid, he registered a punch to his left arm. Disoriented from the darkness around him, he pushed away from the other person—only to land with a thud on wet grass.

Blinking against what turned out to be increasingly pelting rain, his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, leaving barely any light for Andrew to make out the garden around him.

At hearing a groan coming from his left, he sat up, his now wet shirt sticking to his back, and looked across the large lounge chair. Neil was sitting up as well, rubbing the back of his head.

“Shit, did I punch you?” Neil’s voice was raspy from sleep.

Andrew just hummed, finally getting up and looking around himself. Shaking his head, he remembered making out followed by a heated discussion about pancakes and waffles but nothing afterwards. They must’ve fallen asleep while still lying next to each other on the lounge chair.

Andrew had never fallen asleep next to anyone.

“Wait.” Neil sounded incredulous. “Did you punch me?”

Looking over, Andrew saw Neil rubbing his sternum. Choosing not to answer that, he started walking toward the house. After some confused mumbling coming from behind him, Neil quickly caught up to him.

Together they made their way across the garden, the dark house looming before them. Thankfully, the patio door wasn’t locked despite the late hour. Inside, all lights were off. Andrew figured that all occupants had gone to bed without noticing Andrew and Neil missing.

After reaching the top floor, Andrew heard a low sigh behind him. Looking back at Neil, he saw him quietly standing on the landing, watching Andrew.

“What?” Andrew asked, voice low.

Neil hesitated, quickly looking at the door to his room, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeves. Andrew could feel the cold from his wet shirt and jeans spreading.

“Neil.” Andrew really wanted a warm shower.

Taking a deep breath, Neil turned back to Andrew and waved him off. “Night, Drew.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow but wasn’t sure if Neil could see it. When he said nothing else, Andrew turned to unlock his door.

Before closing his door, he saw Neil still standing outside, watching him.

“Go to bed, Neil.”

A small smile appeared on Neil’s face. “Yeah, okay.”

Andrew closed his door, not sure what that had been about.

* * *

**August 10 | 5:17 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

“Mmhh… you smell so good.”

The words had been mumbled against his jaw, Neil’s nose rubbing against his cheek. Incredulous, Andrew pulled back to glare at Neil.

“What?” Neil asked, brows furrowed as if confused.

This guy was unbelievable.

“Don’t say stupid things.”

Neil just shrugged, unconcerned.

Before Andrew had joined Neil in the garden, he had gone back and forth with his team for over an hour, his mood getting worse with every minute. Apparently, the people from witness protection were being assholes, declining Wymack’s request to put Neil in their program because eight years ago Neil had refused their help.

Fucking resentful pricks. Useless, all of them.

He had been able to tell that his team had been surprised by his insistence—he wasn’t exactly known for caring about anything or anyone. If he had to guess, they were only now slowly clueing into the fact that he was serious about not arresting Neil.

Andrew didn’t even care about the gossip he had likely caused by his demands. As long as they got WITSEC to cooperate, they could think whatever they wanted.

Annoyed with WITSEC, his team and, most of all, himself—why did he have to maneuver himself in this mindfuck of a situation—he had gone looking for Neil, finding him in the garden where he was cleaning a ridiculously large assortment of knives.

Seeing him sitting on his favorite lounge chair surrounded by about sixty knives, Andrew had merely stopped next to Neil rather than sitting down, raising an eyebrow.

Neil had just shrugged and pushed some of the knives out of the way, making space for Andrew. After cleaning his knives, reluctantly helped by Andrew, Neil had proceeded to replace some of the wooden targets that were hanging from the branches surrounding the lounge area. Once they had hung up the last target, Andrew had pulled Neil in for a kiss and carefully pushed him against one of the trees.

With only an inch between their chests, Andrew had placed Neil’s hands on his shoulders, letting him know he could touch his hair which Neil immediately took advantage of. In turn, he had, after a nod from Neil, rested his hands on Neil’s hips, squeezing slightly before moving up to his waist, pulling him closer.

He had almost managed to forget his futile conversation with his team when Neil had decided it was a good idea to open his stupid mouth.

Rolling his eyes, Andrew stepped back from Neil. “Let’s go inside and look for something to eat.”

They walked next to each other across the lawn of the main garden, through the living room and into the kitchen. While Andrew was looking through the cupboards for something to cook for dinner, Neil was checking the fridge.

“How was your call?”

At Neil’s words, Andrew paused his search to throw Neil a questioning look.

“You said you had a call? That’s why you went upstairs after lunch, right?”

Andrew really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut when Neil asked him questions. One of these days Neil would bat his stupidly pretty eyes at him and Andrew would tell him everything.

“It was okay.”

“Oh, okay, that’s good.” Neil looked at him funny, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You seemed frustrated earlier, so I thought maybe the call hadn’t gone well.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Andrew cursed Neil for being so perceptive. No one had ever been able to pinpoint his moods like Neil.

It was fucking annoying.

“Yeah, okay, the call had been shit,” Andrew conceded, irritated, “happy?”

“No?” Neil walked over to Andrew, leaning against the counter where Andrew was ruffling through the contents of the cupboard. “Why would that make me happy?”

Andrew huffed, ignoring Neil’s question and focusing instead on reaching the carton with the funny shaped pasta all the way at the back of the cupboard. Once successful, he held it out to Neil in question, hoping to be done with talking about his call.

Neil took the carton of pasta without checking the label—what was the point in eating funny shaped food when Neil didn’t even appreciate it?—and placed it on the counter next to him.

Apparently accepting Andrew’s silence to his question, he asked instead, “Was it an important deal?”

Closing the cupboard doors and standing up straighter, Andrew took a deep breath. “No, it wasn’t important. Let’s talk about something else, okay?”

“Sure, yeah.” Opening the pasta carton, Neil watched Andrew while he looked for a large enough pot. “Just… so, you _do_ make deals over the phone.”

Filling a pot with water and putting it on the stove, Andrew quickly glanced at Neil.

“Yeah, sure.”

It’s not as if he could say that all deals that Andrew Doe might’ve engaged in had been either fake or arranged by his team.

“Okay, I’m taking a turn,” Neil finally said, tapping his knuckles against the carton, making the pasta rattle. “Why would you try and abduct me rather than just call us and arrange a meeting?”

And there it was, the question that Andrew had been dreading for more than two months. Sadly, he still didn’t have a good answer, the truth being just as pathetic as any lie he had managed to come up with.

“I wanted to talk without an audience,” he settled on. In terms of reasons, it was a pretty weak one, but still better than saying that they had wanted to impress the Hatfords with a mob-esque move (Wymack’s words), giving Andrew a better bargaining position.

Just thinking about it made Andrew cringe.

“It was also pretty spontaneous, so I didn’t have much time to better plan it.”

That was obviously not true. They had spent two weeks meticulously planning Neil's abduction and following drive to a secured location for a conversation. But he wasn't about to tell Neil that he had managed to stun an entire team of professional strategists and combat-trained men within mere seconds, leaving them standing in that stupid side street as if they were a bunch of amateurs.

Neil just nodded, either buying Andrew’s answer or accepting that he wouldn’t get a better one.

“And why the shitty gun?”

“What shitty gun?” Andrew asked, distracted by the water finally starting to boil.

“What… Andrew, _your_ gun.”

Looking from the stove to Neil, Andrew was faced with a look of pure incredulity. Taking the pack of pasta from Neil’s unresponsive hands, Andrew decided to ignore him.

“Andrew, the barrel of your gun was dented, making it essentially useless.”

Oh. He actually hadn't known that.

It was yet another thing he couldn't be completely honest about. This conversation was getting exhausting.

Taking a deep breath while weighing his options, he emptied the pack into the boiling water and finally turned to Neil. Shrugging nonchalantly, he said, “It had taken a hit during a deal shortly before we met.”

In truth, it hadn’t been so much a ‘hit’ and more him dropping that stupid thing during a deal over two years ago. A car might’ve also driven over it, he wasn’t entirely sure. In his defense, it had been dark and there had been a lot of people running around, so it had been difficult to keep track of everything that happened. Since Andrew never actually fired his gun, how was he or his team supposed to know that it wasn’t functional anymore?

And as long as his team never found out about this supposed issue with the gun, he still didn't care.

"It got—And you didn't check—Andrew,” Neil said imploringly, slowly and carefully placing his hand on Andrew’s waist as if he wanted to make sure that Andrew wouldn’t turn away again, "if you want I can take a look at the rest of your weapons? Just to be sure they're all working?"

With a huff, Andrew turned to the stove anyway, stirring the pasta in the pot—more to have something to do than anything else. He could feel Neil’s hand shift on his waist, his thumb gently rubbing circles into his side. It didn’t necessarily feel bad.

“My weapons are _fine,_ ” he ground out after a couple beats of silence.

In his periphery he could see Neil biting his lip, looking genuinely concerned. He was being ridiculous. Andrew knew how to look after his things. He wasn’t completely inept. Also, Neil couldn’t just offer to look after his stuff. That’s—That’s not how—Huffing, Andrew threw Neil a glare to make him drop it.

Thankfully, Neil did. He also dropped his hand from Andrew’s waist and stepped back, giving Andrew more space.

(If, for a second, Andrew wanted to pull him back in, then no one had to know.)

Once the pasta was boiling, pre-made sauce slowly heating up in another pot, Andrew decided that Neil’s questions justified a heavy one in return.

“Why did you tell me so much about Nathan?” At Neil’s surprised look, he elaborated, “You don’t seem like you usually talk much about him, I was wondering why you would tell me anything at all.”

Neil moved away from the stove, instead leaning against the opposite counter and crossing his arms. Turning slightly so he could keep both Neil and the stove in his view, Andrew saw Neil looking down at his feet, a small smile flitted over his face.

After a moment, he chuckled, the sound self-deprecating rather than mocking or sarcastic like usual. Looking up at Andrew, he finally said, “I wanted to see your reaction.”

The look he was giving Andrew was challenging, almost confrontational.

“People don’t like it when I talk about Nathan. About the things he does. They say it’s ‘disturbing’.”

“People?”

Neil’s nod in the direction of the hallway was answer enough. Andrew wasn’t sure why he had even asked, as if Neil’s family weren’t the only people that could make Neil do anything. As if there was anyone else that could more quickly put Neil in a bad mood.

Not for the first time, Andrew was less than impressed by Neil’s family. “Well, fuck them, if you want to say something, say it.”

Still shaking his head at the idiocy of the Hatfords while stirring the pasta, he couldn’t help imagining how excited Bee would be at the prospect of taking Neil’s trauma apart.

Not that Bee would ever meet Neil, Andrew thought irritated, glaring at the stove.

“I know.” Neil’s sober voice pulled Andrew from his thoughts, making him look up. “You didn’t react at all. I was sure the description of how Nathan dismembers people would work, but no matter what I threw at you…,” Neil trailed of, biting his lip nervously before continuing, “that never happened before.”

Eyes locked with Neil, Andrew thought about how he would listen for an hour about the procedure of dismembering bodies in excruciating detail, if Neil wanted to talk about that.

Stunned, Andrew realized, he might do pretty much anything if Neil just asked for it.

* * *

**August 12 | 3:02 pm GMT+1 | Hatford shooting range, London, England**

Andrew and Neil had arrived at the shooting range about an hour ago and had yet to step out of the armory. Neil was leaning against one of the tables that had been pushed into the far corner of the room, putting him on eyelevel with Andrew standing in front of him.

Taking advantage of the time away from the Hatford house, they had been alternating between halting conversation and making out. Andrew’s hands were resting lightly on Neil’s hips, thumbs rubbing small circles into Neil’s hipbones, while Neil kept running his fingers through Andrew’s hair, pulling him in again and again.

Andrew couldn’t believe how natural being with Neil felt. He still expected it to change at any moment—either for the comfort to disappear, turning this into nothing more than a hook-up, or for the feeling to turn bad, their closeness becoming too much.

Intimacy had always been a difficult thing for Andrew. In his mind, it had always meant weakness and loss of control, reminding him of the worst moments in his life. Even at home, seeing his brother and cousin with their significant others, Andrew had never thought this closeness might ever be a possibility for him.

In fact, he had been convinced that his childhood had destroyed any sense of wanting this kind of intimacy with another person.

But this, having Neil close and trading nonsense comments and kisses in between breaths, felt _good_.

In the past, before this entire Andrew Doe stint had started, he would—at most—get off with some stranger in the back of a dark club. Always keeping it anonymous.

Being with Neil was nothing like that. It was unprecedented, unchartered territory that Andrew had no idea how to navigate. He didn’t even know if the thought of Neil, and what he might mean to Andrew, was exhilarating or terrifying.

But right here, in this absurd moment, in a room filled with firearms, somewhere in London, with Neil in his arms, he could forget the major clusterfuck he had created for himself by starting _this_ with Neil.

With his head a constant jumbled mess of thoughts pulling him in different directions, he still wasn’t even sure what _this_ really was.

It seemed as if they had silently agreed on not discussing what would happen after the bust. Andrew wouldn’t know what to say anyway, so he appreciated the silence on the topic. After all, Neil still thought they would be business partners, seemingly leaving the door open for something between them in the future.

Andrew was still convinced that telling Neil about the full situation and enrolling him in WITSEC before the bust was the best option. He wanted to believe that Neil would come clean.

He really did.

But Wymack refused to give Andrew the Go and sharing their plan, letting Neil in on this government operation, without approval, would finally make Andrew the traitor he was only pretending to be. And with all the things that had been done to him, with all the things people always said about him, Andrew wanted to believe he could be _good_.

He didn’t want to be a criminal. He wanted to walk away from this mission without having turned into part of the problem. Even if telling Neil felt like the solution. Even if it felt more right than anything else had in the last three years.

Maybe it was because of his people at home, or because of Neil’s utter conviction when he had told Andrew that he was too good for the world of organized crime—Andrew had decided to follow Wymack’s orders as per Renee’s last update: He would wait until after the bust, hoping that Neil would turn on his family and the business that had been his home for his entire life and testify in exchange for a place in witness protection. Hoping that Neil would forgive him.

Just like they didn’t talk about what would happen after the bust, they also didn’t talk about taking their _this_ any further. For now, they took tiny steps, always making sure they both felt comfortable before trying something new—a hand on the small of the back, a head on the other’s shoulder, a kiss on the cheek. It was glaringly obvious that they were both unfamiliar with sharing any amount of intimacy with someone else and needed time to get used to the idea of being known on such an intimate level.

And even though he knew it was an illusion, being with Neil felt as if time was infinite. As if there was no rush. No need to hurry.

Neil gently rubbed his nose against Andrew’s, his movements slow, as if he had heard Andrew and wanted him to know that he agreed.

In whispered words, barely intelligible, they talked about London and England, about the States, and any other place they could think of. Making fun of some of the more absurd rumors about other high-profile criminals. Comparing notes and trading insider knowledge, offering more and more of their stories. Of themselves.

“I tried meeting with the Solvanos but they never showed up,” Andrew mumbled, words breathed into the space between them, remembering their failed attempt at making contact with one of the bigger mob families in Middle America.

“Yeah, they’re not really known for working with Americans. But why would you want to deal with them anyway, when you can spend your summer with us.” Neil slowly kissed his way along Andrew’s jaw and down his neck.

A shiver ran through Andrew, too unexpected to stop it in time. He could feel Neil’s smile against his skin.

“Good?”

“Shut up,” he ground out, squeezing Neil’s hips.

Neil’s low laughter danced in warm puffs across Andrew’s cheek, causing goosebumps to break out along his arms.

“How did you even come up with the idea of going through us. It doesn’t seem like the obvious choice.”

“Yeah.” Andrew shrugged, leaning back just a bit and looking at Neil’s lips. “It was a bit of a long shot.”

Distracted by the corners of Neil’s mouth twitching upwards, it took him a moment to register what he’d just said.

“And you think tha—”

“Shut up,” Andrew groaned, letting his forehead fall onto Neil’s shoulder, feeling the breath from Neil’s laughter tickling his ear. “It’s a figure of speech.”


	6. Chapter 6—Andrew

> **trust**
> 
> _noun_ | unconditional and unproven faith in something or someone; also: the scariest thing to unintentionally give to another person

* * *

**August 15 | 11:48 pm GMT+1 | Garden, Hatford House, London, England**

They were lying together on their lounge chair in the back part of the garden. Through the trees, they had watched the lights in the house being turned off one after another until only the tiny spotlights illuminating the hallway had been left.

They hadn’t moved in several hours at this point, letting darkness envelope them rather than turning on the garden lights around them. Andrew could only just make out the general outlines of their surroundings, the moon casting soft light on Neil’s face, with his long eyelashes and full bottom lip.

He was curled into a ball next to Andrew, playing mindlessly with the fingers of Andrew’s right hand that was resting on his stomach. Every couple seconds, Neil’s eyes fluttered shut, staying closed for longer and longer intervals.

“Let’s go to bed before you fall asleep.” Andrew’s low voice seemed almost loud in the silence of the night. “I don’t feel like a repeat from the other night.”

“Don’t want to go inside,” Neil mumbled into Andrew’s shoulder, his fingers curling into his shirt.

Andrew didn’t deem that with a response and started to get up, carefully trying to dislodge Neil.

“Drew, wait, ‘m not tired yet.”

“You’ve been dozing off for the past half hour.”

Neil just shook his head, rubbing his face against Andrew’s bicep.

“I can see your face, you know that, right?”

“Aww, you’re watching my face?” Neil’s voice sounded tired but teasing.

“Shut up.” Andrew tried again to get up, this time less gently, but the idiot was surprisingly stubborn.

After Andrew had once more settled back down, Neil got up on his forearm, looking down at him. “I mean it, I don’t want to go inside yet.”

He was biting his lip, eyes flickering over Andrew’s face.

“It’s getting colder and you’re tired. And there are perfectly comfortable beds up there.” Andrew nodded in the general direction of the main house.

Neil’s gaze followed the movement in the direction of the house before returning to Andrew.

“Don’t feel like being alone right now.”

His voice was so low, Andrew had almost missed the quiet admission.

Dragging a hand down his face, Andrew took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if he was reading the situation correctly. Or, even if he was, if it was a good idea to give in to Neil.

After hesitating for another moment, Andrew finally suggested, “We don’t have to split up, if that’s what you’re trying to hint at.”

Neil’s small, hopeful smile told him that he had been right.

Rolling his eyes, Andrew said, “You could’ve just asked. Next time either of us wants something, let’s just use actual words.”

Neil’s smile turned into a grin, eyes glinting with mischief—Andrew couldn’t help but stare transfixed up at him.

“You want something? When did that happen.”

The comment broke him out of his stupor. Scoffing at Neil’s antics, he finally pushed Neil off and got up.

They slowly walked through the quiet house, index fingers linked as had become normal. Once they had reached the top floor, Andrew automatically drifted to the right, approaching his own door and only stopping when he felt Neil drawing him to a halt.

Looking back, he saw Neil looking between the two doors and Andrew.

“I was thinking, maybe we go to my room?” Neil’s voice was soft, barely audible despite the small distance between them.

Andrew looked at his door before fully turning toward Neil. “Is there something I should be aware of about my room?”

The silence dragged on for too long for Andrew’s taste.

“Neil?”

“How many mikes have you disabled?”

“Eleven. But I can disable all of them for the night. They’re dialed down to almost zero anyway.”

“How many would that be in total?”

“21.”

Neil nodded slowly, looking around them. “Have you checked your light switches yet?”

“Yes,” Andrew rolled his eyes at Neil’s joke from his very first day here, “and just like I expected, they aren’t bugged.”

Stepping forward, Neil gently pulled on Andrew’s hand. Once close, Neil leaned down, resting his forehead against Andrew’s.

“How about a deal. We’ll stay in my room tonight and I'll show you the wiretap in the light switch tomorrow.” Seeing Andrew’s narrowed eyes, he continued, “I don’t feel like sleeping in a tapped room tonight.”

Looking into Neil’s eyes, Andrew tried to make sense of his words. Had he missed any bugs? And why would Neil worry about them anyway? Couldn’t he just delete any files if he wanted to? It almost sounded as if Neil wasn’t able to stop whoever did the monitoring.

Interesting.

“Okay?”

After another second, Andrew slowly nodded, rubbing his nose against Neil’s. “Okay.”

A smile spread on Neil’s face. Straightening up, he pulled Andrew to his door. Andrew had expected him to unlock it, but instead Neil merely walked in and switched on the bedside lamps.

“You don’t lock your door?”

“This is my house, why would I lock the door?”

Andrew had to agree with that logic, but that didn’t mean he appreciated the smugness in Neil’s voice.

Shrugging, Andrew stepped further into the room, still blinking against the sudden light, and took in the space. As expected, it was a mirror of his own room. Even the furniture was the same—dark wooden bedframe, the wardrobe, even the bedside tables and lamps.

In the opposite corner, however, was a large and comfortable looking black armchair with a mountain of pillows on top instead of an annoying cluster of oversized plants. And instead of his rectangular white carpet, the floor in Neil’s room was covered by a large round black carpet that looked so soft he had the sudden urge to walk over it barefoot.

He looked back to Neil when he heard the lock of the door click into place. Raising one eyebrow, Andrew parroted with a terrible British accent, “This is my house, why would I lock the door?”

Neil just rolled his eyes and walked past Andrew in the direction of the bathroom. “That was terrible but if it made you feel better, then more power to you.”

“Thanks, very generous.”

“I’ll be quick. You can find something to sleep in in the wardrobe, I’ll look for a spare toothbrush.”

Andrew almost pointed out that he could just go to his room to get ready for bed and return afterwards. But after remembering Neil’s relief at Andrew’s suggestion to stay together tonight, he decided to keep his mouth shut.

Looking through Neil’s drawers, Andrew decided on a long-sleeved shirt, figuring his briefs would do.

Waiting for Neil to be finished in the bathroom, he wondered why he had agreed to this. Starting tomorrow, he would work on getting better at saying ‘no’ to Neil. Nodding to himself, as if it wasn’t a completely empty promise, he walked over to the bed and sat down on the side closer to the windows.

He doubted he would get any sleep tonight. He’d never shared a bed with anyone, his sleep too light to have any kind of movement next to him. More importantly, he had never trusted anyone enough to intentionally fall asleep around them—the other night being an unintentional exception to this life-long rule.

He wasn’t sure what it meant that he was willing to extend that trust to Neil.

After switching with Neil, Andrew quickly brushed his teeth and changed into Neil’s borrowed shirt for the night. In the main room, Neil was already under the covers, tapping on his phone.

Andrew walked back to the side he had been sitting on earlier and, after quickly taking off his jeans, crawled under the blanket. After a short nod from Andrew, Neil turned off the lights, plunging the room back into darkness.

After an awkward moment of silence, they both turned onto their sides, facing each other.

Andrew’s eyes slowly got used again to the low moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains, painting Neil’s silhouette next to him in bright silver.

“Guess you’re better than I thought,” Neil whispered into the space between them.

“Hm?” Andrew didn’t understand the comment.

“With the whole seducing thing.” The corners of Neil’s lips turned up the tiniest bit. “You totally got me into bed.”

Rolling his eyes, Andrew remembered Neil’s stupid comment from a couple weeks ago. “Pretty sure it’s not hand holding and actual sleeping those agents are after.”

Neil shrugged awkwardly into his pillow, snickering quietly.

“I don’t even know how you did it.” His voice was so low, Andrew had to lean forward to hear him. “You weren’t even charming half the time.”

Andrew huffed, the sound surprisingly close to a laugh.

“That’s the trick.” He said after a moment, deadpan. “We adapt to whatever our mark is looking for in a person.”

Neil snorted at Andrew’s response, shaking his head slightly.

Andrew knew they were joking. He knew that Neil knew.

But still.

He didn’t want Neil to have any doubts when it came to this.

When it came to _them_.

Andrew reached for Neil's right wrist between them but stopped short of touching. Only after Neil gave the tiniest nod, did he wrap his fingers around Neil's wrist and pulled it closer to himself. He needed to make sure that Neil knew this was not a ploy.

He would never use intimacy like that. Just the thought had his stomach turning.

“Neil,” Andrew had to pause, making sure he chose the right words, “I worked as a coding agent at the NSA. I was never a field agent. Why do you think I’m so shit at literally anything that has to do with field work?”

Neil looked at him, his eyes dancing over Andrew’s face before landing again on his eyes.

“You didn’t have to tell me that.”

“I know. But I want to make sure you know that this”—Andrew pointed between them—"is not because of any ulterior motive. If anything, this makes things fucking complicated.”

“This?” Neil wriggled his eyebrows teasingly, before moving slightly closer to Andrew.

“Shut up.”

A small smile spread across Neil's face as they continued looking at each other. Once again, Andrew could see Neil's eyes roaming over his face—his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. He wondered what Neil thought when he looked at Andrew like this.

“You weren't supposed to mean anything,” Andrew finally whispered into the quiet.

“But I do?” Neil's eyes locked with Andrew’s. “Mean something?”

At Andrew's silence, Neil wriggled his right hand until Andrew got the hint and let go of his wrist, instead linking their fingers.

Squeezing Andrew's hand slightly, Neil whispered, “You weren't supposed to mean anything to me either.”

Andrew could feel his chest tighten, as if a heavy weight had settled on his ribcage. Somehow, that had been the best and worst thing Neil could've said. How dare this idiot make Andrew hope for something that he could not have?

“Going against our plans like that,” Neil contemplated Andrew for several minutes before mumbling into his pillow, “guess we're both pretty bad at being the bad guys.”

If Neil only knew how true his statement was.

“I guess we are.”

Not breaking eye contact, they let silence settle over the room.

Waking up in the morning, still in the same position with a sleeping Neil across from him on the other side of the bed, Andrew couldn’t remember when they had closed their eyes last night. It had seemed as if they had been looking at each other for hours after the last word had been whispered into the darkness.

* * *

**August 16 | 7:32 am GMT+1 | Neil’s room, Hatford House, London, England**

When Andrew opened his eyes the next time, the sun was up, flooding the room with warm light, rays made visible by tiny dust particles in the air. The bed next to him was empty.

He must’ve fallen back asleep.

Noticing the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, Andrew sat up and checked his phone on the bedside table. The security feed that tracked any movement of the phone had not been triggered since Andrew had set it down on the table.

Rolling his shoulders to ease the tension, Andrew ran a hand through his hair. This constant pull between trusting Neil and knowing he shouldn’t, was exhausting. And on top of everything, he caught himself constantly mixing up his roles. Sometimes he approached situations with an agent mindset even though he’s supposed to be a criminal and government traitor. And other times he spontaneously responded with a ruthlessness that was more like a mob boss than the intricate double-play and calculated distance of an undercover agent.

Looking around himself, the blanket rumpled, both pillows showing indents, Andrew wasn’t even sure who had made the insane decision to sleep here last night. It didn’t seem like either a mob boss or an agent thing. And if you asked anyone at home, it sure as fuck wasn’t an Andrew thing, either.

And that, he supposed, was the problem in a nutshell: He had no idea what he was doing or how to stop himself from continuing.

Andrew looked up when he heard the door to the bathroom open. Neil was in the middle of a yawn when he noticed Andrew sitting up in bed. He still had creases from the pillow on his right cheek, his hair a mess of damp curls. With a small smile he walked over, stopping awkwardly a couple feet away from Andrew.

“Hey.” Neil’s smile turned shy, almost hesitating. “Did you sleep okay?”

Andrew paused for a moment to think back to last night. "Yeah. Better than I thought I would."

Neil nodded, his laugh more a huff than anything else. "Yeah, me too."

"I'm not used to having someone else this close when sleeping," Andrew explained, not sure why he did. "You don't move much during sleep. That helped."

“Yeah.” Neil gave Andrew a small smile. “I know what you mean.”

Andrew couldn’t help but stare at Neil standing against the sunshine breaking through the curtains. His eyes looked tired but happy, the scar on his cheek seemed softer in the warm morning light.

“Do you have a screwdriver?”

“Huh?” Had he missed part of the conversation?

“To show you the mike in the light switch? I have one in case you don’t.”

Rubbing his eyes, it took Andrew a moment to catch up to Neil’s train of thought. “Uh, yeah, I have one in my room. You want to go now?”

“Sure.” Neil shrugged, unconcerned. “We just have to make sure that we don’t talk—or, well, that I don’t talk—while I show you were it is hidden. That’s a conversation with my uncle I can go without.”

Andrew nodded slowly, running his hand through his hair. “Sure, okay. No talking.”

At the grin spreading on Neil’s lips, Andrew raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not a morning person. I somehow thought you’d be alert with the first sunlight.”

Andrew gave Neil a flat stare. If it was up to Andrew he wouldn’t get up before noon. Unfortunately that had not been an option over the last couple years.

Neil opened his mouth but stopped short of another stupid comment, biting his lip instead and tilting his head slightly to the side.

“What now?” Andrew grumbled.

Shrugging, Neil looked at Andrew a bit longer before saying, “Your eyes are beautiful.”

What the fuck.

Andrew threw Neil a disgusted look and, after finally getting out of bed and picking up his jeans from the floor, he turned away to put them back on.

Andrew quickly zipped up his jeans, not bothering to change into his own shirt—he doubted anyone would be on their floor to see them coming out of Neil’s room. And if someone did, then the fact that he was wearing Neil’s shirt wouldn’t be the most incriminating thing about the situation.

Andrew shoved his phone in his pocket and grabbed his shirt from yesterday before looking back at Neil. “Ready?”

Neil just nodded, eyes trained on the wardrobe, a blush coloring his cheeks. After a beat, he quickly walked to his door without further comment. Narrowing his eyes at Neil’s weird behavior, Andrew followed him out the door to the hallway.

Unlike Neil, Andrew always locked his door, so Neil had to wait patiently while Andrew got his key out and opened it for him.

Walking in quietly—he didn’t want to alert anyone to the fact that he had not come to his room last night—he dropped his phone and shirt on his bed and walked over to his closet. He took out one of the duffle bags he had stored there and placed it on the bed, searching for the screwdriver.

In his periphery, he saw Neil closing the door without making a sound—it’s not as if Andrew had tried the same thing repeatedly and had failed every time—before walking over to Andrew. Taking out the screwdriver, he placed it next to the bag but held up a finger before Neil could pick it up.

He quickly went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Neil followed him, leaning against the doorframe and watching him. Leaning against the sink, Andrew turned to Neil, mirroring his posture.

Neil raised his eyebrows in question when they made eye contact. But Andrew just shrugged, not in the mood to explain the concept of morning breath.

Once done, he stepped up to Neil and, tilting his head up in question, left it up to him what they would do next. Andrew was, for once, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from lifting in response to the bright smile spreading across Neil’s stupidly attractive face.

Gently, more gently than Andrew ever had anyone touch him, Neil cupped Andrew’s left cheek, thumb caressing where he knew a dimple was usually hidden, and leaned down, softly pecking him on the lips and rubbing his nose against Andrew’s.

After straightening back up, Neil went to pick up the screwdriver before moving on to the light switch that was nestled between the door and wardrobe. Kneeling on the floor so his face was level with the switch, he started removing the plastic cover.

Walking over to join Neil, Andrew watched him do the exact same thing Andrew had done multiple times at this point: take off the cover, unscrew the inside cover that protected the wires, and carefully pull out the wires to see if anything was lodged between them.

Unlike Andrew, however, Neil pulled on one of the black wires individually and peeled something equally black off it. Turning to Andrew, Neil showed him the small rectangular piece of tape—on the sticky side Andrew could see traces similar to a circuit board.

Fucking hell.

With all his coding knowledge, he had never seen a piece of hardware like this. Massaging his temple, Andrew thought about how he would have to adjust what he was looking for in this damn room if there were transmitters like this around.

Before Andrew could reach out to take a closer look, Neil had already placed the data piece on the floor and stepped on it with his sneaker. Smiling happily, Neil put the remains in his pocket and returned every piece of the light switch to its rightful place.

Andrew wasn’t even angry that Neil had destroyed the mike. Whatever invention it was, whoever had developed it, Neil was clearly not ready to hand it over. Since Andrew was keeping secrets of his own, he knew he couldn’t blame Neil for doing the same. After all, Neil still believed that Andrew wanted to take over his father’s business, thereby making him a potential rival on the gangster landscape.

Once Neil was done reassembling the light switch, he handed the screwdriver to Andrew before nodding at the door and pointing to the garden.

Andrew just nodded back, letting Neil know that he’ll meet him downstairs in a couple minutes.

After watching the fucker close the door behind himself again completely soundlessly, Andrew quickly logged into the Hatford security system to check which data link had been disconnected. He still hoped to figure out a pattern that would point to the location of each mike.

Scrolling through the list, there were still ten working data links.

The same amount as yesterday.

But that couldn’t be.

Glaring at his laptop, Andrew reloaded the program.

And again.

_And again._

Staring at the wall, stunned, Andrew was at a loss.

There were more mikes in this room than he had been aware of.

Mikes that had been recording him when he had thought he was safe to speak out loud.

Dread settled heavy in his stomach.

He had talked to Wymack about putting Neil in witness protection.

With a live mike in his room.

No one had ever managed to outsmart Andrew when it came to surveillance.

Surveillance was _his thing_.

He remembered the Hatfords’ close scrutiny. The looks they had been giving him for the past month. And like the idiot he was, he had attributed the looks to this thing between Neil and him. He didn’t even think about them figuring out his cover.

They knew.

_They knew._

* * *

**August 16 | 8:29 am GMT+1 | Andrew’s room, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew did not panic.

Because panicking would imply a loss of control. And Andrew was always in control.

It also implied weakness. And Andrew was never weak.

Panic also meant being scared. And Andrew was _not_ scared. Of anything.

Or anyone.

That is why he didn’t obsessively go over every spoken word. Or paced around the bed and past the plants and back again. Or pressed the palm of his hands against his eyes until pinpricks of light flashed across his vision.

He didn't do any of those things. Because Andrew did not panic.

The last time he had panicked, the last time he had been weak, the last time he had been scared, was more than ten years ago. And he would not go back to that time.

Swallowing hard, he sat back down on the bed and thought about possible next steps to undo this potential clusterfuck.

Point one. While the Hatfords had been watching him more closely over the last couple weeks, they had not taken any action. That was good.

Point two. Not all Hatfords had been weird, mostly the guards, especially Max and James, the creepy fucker, and George, who was apparently in charge of security. So maybe the information had not been shared with everyone yet, meaning there was a hold-up in the information flow. That was also good.

Point three. Neil.

There had been no reason for Neil to show Andrew the mike if he’d been aware that the mike gave them access to confidential government information.

After staring at the wall for another ten minutes, stomach churning and heartrate not letting up, Andrew decided that he would hold off on telling his team at home for the moment and instead talk to Neil. Hopefully he would be able to figure out the hold-up and bring it to a full stop before he had to escalate the situation through his team.

After taking a quick shower and putting on fresh clothes, feeling slightly more settled with a plan in mind, he went downstairs to find Neil.

Ignoring Emma and George sitting on the deck, he went straight for the back part of the garden. As expected, Neil was throwing knives at the targets, not reacting when Andrew approached.

He looked as if he didn’t even have to work for it, the movements so ingrained it no longer took any effort or focus. Not for the first time Andrew wondered who had taught him. And what the punishment had been for failing.

Watching Neil hitting bullseye several times in a row, Andrew tried to collect his thoughts and went through all his lessons at the agency on information extraction. Subtlety was key. Also, you always had to keep the informant talking. And finally, you had to distract from yourself, shifting the conversation to another topic as soon as you had all you wanted to know. Easy.

“Don’t be hard on yourself. No one outside the family has ever managed to find them.” Neil’s voice was nonchalant as if talking about the weather, not a highly advanced piece of surveillance tech that may or may not have been Andrew’s downfall.

He was so keyed up by the situation as a whole, he couldn’t even muster any annoyance at Neil always noticing him. The guy was on his own level of paranoia.

"Looking forward to finding the others, then. They looked interesting," Andrew hedged, figuring that had been sufficiently subtle while also prompting Neil to go on.

"Oh yeah, they’re pretty cool. Super illegal, too. They're our most advanced mikes. There aren't any more of those in your room, though."

"Really? Why?"

Inwardly grimacing at himself, Andrew didn’t need to see Neil’s raised eyebrow to know that had not been particularly subtle.

"They need an energy source to record remotely, so you have to place them on wires. The light switches are the only wires you can easily access without opening the wall or putting them in plain sight."

"Why not build them into the wall?"

"Because we sometimes have family stay in there and if they found out that we put them in a wired room, hell would break loose.” Neil shrugged, unconcerned. “Plus, you can only listen to what they recorded through a manual check, so you need to be able to access the actual data pad. George loves them but if you ask me, they’re rather impractical and nothing more than a back-up plan."

"So," Andrew took a deep breath, still hesitating to be too hopeful too soon, "all the other mikes are for immediate surveillance but this one would’ve only been checked after I left?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Neil was looking at him, head cocked to the side.

“Shame. I wanted to take them apart, figure out how they work.” Andrew hoped that’ll derail Neil sufficiently before he saw through the impromptu interrogation.

Andrew had half a mind to be proud of himself. The trick behind successful questioning of an unknowing informant was that the other person didn’t realize they were being questioned. Kevin had always said that Andrew was doing it wrong but what did Kevin know? Andrew had nailed this.

Taking a deep breath, Andrew let his shoulders slowly relax. No one had listened to the weird remote mike, so no one knew about his call with Wymack. All the weird looks were because of Neil and him, after all. It wasn’t ideal but much better than the alternative.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he could feel his heart slowly calming down, the low buzzing in his ears had vanished. He was safe. And no one suspected anything.

Good.

“Just what was on that data pad that got you so worried?”

Okay, one person suspected something. But Neil didn’t really count.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re so bad at this.” Neil grinned. “Good thing you’re pretty.”

“Shut up.” Andrew crossed his arms, glaring at Neil. Andrew was a serious criminal and a very intimidating person. He was _not_ pretty. _What the fuck._ Annoyed, he mumbled, “I was just interested since I thought it would be the first mike I’ve seen that transmitted data without showing up in my security check.” Shrugging, he added, “Clearly, it’s not as advanced as I thought it was.”

Neil just nodded, a small smile on his lips.

"What?" Andrew huffed.

"Sometimes you're such a nerd."

"And you're an idiot."

Neil laughed, carelessly throwing another knife and hitting a target about eight yards away.

“Why show me?”

Turning back to Andrew, Neil shrugged. “I just don’t think that we’ll find out anything by listening to months of you snoring or complaining about your hair not doing what you want it to do.”

Andrew stared at Neil, unsure what he should say to that. If he should say anything at all.

Finally, he settled on, “I don’t snore.”

“So…,” Neil’s lips twitched, “you do talk to your hair?”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed but Neil just grinned at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling stupidly.

With a deep sigh, Andrew wondered not for the first time, why out of all the idiots in the world he had to fall for this one.

Wait, _no_.

* * *

**August 20 | 0:12 am GMT+1 | Neil’s room, Hatford House, London, England**

“Do you still feel like running?” Andrew asked into the silence of the room.

Neil was curled into the blanket next to Andrew, face smooshed into his pillow. He looked like he was about to fall asleep any minute, while Andrew was still sitting up, back against the headboard and phone in hand. He had spent all but one night in Neil’s room over the last couple days, both of them surprised at how well they slept with the other one so close during the night.

“Not really. Maybe to get away from things for a while, but not to disappear again, you know?”

Andrew didn’t. He had never had the option to leave and invent a new identity like Neil had done when he was younger. For as long as Andrew could remember, he had always been at the mercy of others to decide whether he went or stayed.

“Do you?” Neil quietly asked Andrew, “Want to get away from things sometimes?”

Andrew considered Neil lying next to him, eyes tired, shoulders relaxed.

Before Andrew could come up with a response, Neil went on, voice quiet, “If I asked you, would you come with me? Get in a car and hit the road, no destination in mind?” He paused, lips twitching minutely. “Don’t worry, it’s just a figure of speech, there is no actual hitting required.”

This fucker.

Andrew reached behind himself for one of the many pillows and hit a laughing Neil over the head with it.

“Ouch, wow, you hit!”

For good measure, Andrew decided to go in for a second hit.

* * *

**August 22 | 11:19 am GMT+1 | Living room, Hatford House, London, England**

They were reading in the living room, Andrew on one of the armchairs with Neil curled up next to him on the couch. Emma and George were taking up the other side of the couch and chair, both watching TV. They were glancing at Neil and Andrew in irregular intervals. Andrew wasn’t sure if they were trying to be subtle or if their looks were supposed to intimidate Andrew. Either way, they were failing.

The loud volume of the TV had Andrew half listening to the talk show that was currently on. A guy was supposedly being surprised with a paternity test. If you asked Andrew, all the actors were terrible and should consider a career change. Neil was so invested in his book, Andrew doubted he even realized there were people around him. It almost made him want to interrupt him—Neil shouldn’t make Andrew suffer through this stupid show by himself.

The couple on TV had just started yelling at each other when Stuart stepped into the room.

“We just got the date confirmed,” Stuart said, ominously serious. “Meeting in the small living room in five.”

With that, Stuart turned around and marched back out of the room. Sometimes his self-importance reminded Andrew of Kevin. Maybe there was hope for Kevin in the mobster world after all.

By the time Emma and George were making their way into the hallway, Neil still had his nose buried in his book.

Andrew tapped Neil’s knee, the only part of him he could reach without getting up.

“Huh?” Neil looked up at Andrew, brows furrowed and confusion clear in his eyes.

“We have been summoned,” Andrew said. “Stuart got new information.”

“Damn, it was getting really interesting.” Neil earmarked the page he was currently on, before laying the book on the side table. “Let’s go before he comes back and yells at us.”

Walking into the small living room, everybody was already spread out around the round table. Neil went for the empty chair between Stuart and Emma, while Andrew took a seat further down the line, almost across from Neil.

Once Stuart had the attention of everyone in the room, he recapped a recent call with one of their American informants. The Butcher had finally set up the meeting they had already been banking on. It was with one of the more known dealers from the West coast to exchange truckloads of a new party drug coming from somewhere in Asia for equally large amounts of weapons and ammunition.

The fact that weapons would be part of the deal set off alarm bells for Andrew. Depending on the kind of firearms, they might hinder their operation. He would have to let the FBI know that there might be explosives present, making the use of their own guns difficult.

“A warehouse filled with firearms and our men in the middle of it? You can’t be serious.”

Andrew was surprised to hear Emma think along the same lines as he did since she usually didn’t seem particularly bright.

Stuart, just like most people around the table, appeared to be as bothered by the presence of firearms as Emma. Neil, however, seemed utterly unconcerned. That impression was confirmed when Neil interrupted Stuart’s fretting.

“Stop worrying. Remi will find out what kind of ammunition it is ahead of the meeting. Besides, no way would Nathan walk into a warehouse filled with something that could blow up in his face, figuratively or literally.”

Stuart’s glare completely missed the mark as Neil had already gone back to staring out the window.

“I’ll talk to Remi. Like Neil said, she will try to find out more details ahead of the meeting.” Stuart conceded before moving on. “Neil will be present. He and Andrew will arrive the day before so you can meet up with our men to discuss the last details.”

“I will bring my men as well,” said Andrew, keeping his voice flat. “They can pick us up at the airport.”

At his declaration, the murmuring around the table ceased. Stuart looked as if he bit into a lemon, clearly not happy with giving Andrew any kind of control.

“Sounds good.” Neil’s sharp voice had all eyes snap to him. “Andrew and I fly out to the States, meet up with our men, get a good night’s sleep and then take out Nathan.” Neil looked around the table, taking in every member of his family as if judging their mere existence and finding all of them lacking. Finally, his gaze settled on Andrew, look turning stubborn. “Easy as that.”

Andrew doubted that anything about this would be easy. Neil had once more turned away, looking out the window and ignoring everyone in the room.

“Obviously we’ll have more information as we get closer to the date. Right now, we’re planning for the third of September, so in roughly two weeks.”

Stuart went on, but Andrew barely registered the details—a private plane to take them unnoticed into the country, a motel in Baltimore, a warehouse in the Baltimore harbor.

Two weeks.

He watched Neil as he kept staring out the window, his furrowed brows and clenched jaw betraying the nonchalant picture he was trying to project. Andrew wondered how anyone could ever think Neil was careless when he had probably already thought of every little thing that could go wrong and was at least halfway through a list with solutions to every scenario.

Two weeks.

The two words were running through Andrew’s head on a loop, long after Stuart had finished talking and everyone had left the room, after Andrew had settled back on the chair next to Neil on the couch.

Two weeks.

He only had two weeks to come up with a way to make sure Neil would be safe.

The last couple months had seemed as if time had dragged on, with no real development. But suddenly it felt as if time was running out.

He wasn’t ready.

_Two weeks._

* * *

**August 22 | 4:12 pm GMT+1 | Andrew’s room, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew had finally managed to withdraw to his room so he would be able to text Renee the newly confirmed date and, if possible, set up a call. So far, he had mostly avoided spoken communication, both because it was much easier to stay vague via text and, as a general rule, he liked to avoid any and all conversation if possible.

At least, he used to.

Trusting Neil that there were no other remotely working taps (he vehemently ignored the question of when he had started to blindly trust another person), he quickly accessed the security system and scrambled all remaining mikes in his room, rendering them useless for the time being.

Rubbing his eyes, he thought about how less paranoid people would simply turn off the mikes entirely.

Unfortunately, Andrew’s paranoia was usually justified. Plus, he had learned the hard way to not underestimate the chances of someone doing a security check right when he was potentially compromised.

> [TODAY]
> 
> A, 4:16 pm | FOO?
> 
> R, 4:17 pm | T
> 
> R, 4:17 pm | AN T
> 
> A, 4:18 pm | 1001 / 0011 T

Using the binary code for the date reminded him of the early days of working with Renee. Back then, they had used increasingly random programming languages for little notes between them just to see if the other would be able to decipher them.

He never would’ve thought that their inside jokes would come in this handy one day.

> R, 4:18 pm | T
> 
> A, 4:19 pm | CALLP
> 
> R, 4:19 pm | VULNP
> 
> A, 4:20 pm | ROOT
> 
> R, 4:20 pm | CALL T 10 M
> 
> A, 4:21 pm | BYE?
> 
> R, 4:21 pm | BYE

Staring at the wall, he didn’t move until his phone started ringing ten minutes later.

* * *

**August 24 | 9:23 pm GMT+1 | Kitchen, Hatford House, London, England**

“So, I thought maybe we could... work out together... sometime?” Felix' voice kept droning on from where he was stationed next to the kitchen doorway.

For the past 15 minutes, Andrew had been busy pulling out stupidly small bags of potato chips from the snacks cupboard in search of a flavor that was not fucking salt and vinegar. Felix, for some unknown reason, insisted on not leaving him the fuck alone.

“Or we could... use the swimming pool?”

Prawn Cocktail. _What the fuck_.

“Maybe... uhm... later tonight?”

“Hey Drew,” Neil said, walking quietly into the kitchen.

Andrew only spared him a quick look over his shoulder before going back to the task at hand.

“Leave.”

With his head inside the cupboard, Andrew figured that the dismissive command had been directed at Felix. The shuffling of feet and Neil's following huff, confirmed his guess.

Walking over, Neil crossed his arms over his chest and scowled back at the door. “Unbelievable. That guy has a girlfriend.”

“Not you, too.” Andrew rolled his eyes. “He never talks about anything else.”

Stopping next to him, Neil leaned against the counter and looked at him weird.

“What.”

After a moment, Neil merely shrugged and let his arms drop to his sides, a small smile appearing on his stupid face. “Nothing.”

When his narrowed eyes got ignored, Andrew focused back on his search for an acceptable snack, figuring Neil would speak up if there was a problem. Next to him, Neil was surveying the pile of chips bags strewn across the counter. When he went to pick one up, Andrew snatched it from his hands and shoved it back into the cupboard.

“Don’t eat that.”

Instead, he handed Neil one with chili flavor. It wasn’t his favorite but still better than anything with vinegar.

Raising his eyebrows at Andrew, Neil carefully ripped the bag open and held it out to him. Andrew, already stuck halfway in the cupboard again, waved him off absently.

“I don’t like vinegar.” Andrew shrugged, answering the unspoken question.

Confusion flitted over Neil’s face as he looked down at the label of his own bag.

Rolling his eyes at Neil’s obtuseness, Andrew begrudgingly settled on sour cream and onion. He shoved all remaining bags back into the cupboard and quickly closed the doors, leaving the mess to the next person to deal with it.

“I have an update on the deal. Stuart wanted me to bring you up to speed.”

Andrew wasn’t surprised that there had been an update meeting without him. After all, he had expected the Hatfords to do some planning that did not include him. As long as they did as planned, he didn’t care if they had any side deals happening.

Ideally, nothing that would implicate Neil further, thereby making things more difficult for Andrew.

Standing next to each other, leaning against the kitchen counter, they made their way through their chips bags while Neil gave him a quick rundown of the plan for the bust.

They would fly into Philadelphia on September second, evading any potential monitoring the Butcher might be up to at Baltimore airport. Get picked up by Andrew’s men—nothing more than an empty concession to keep Andrew happy, as far as Andrew could tell. Drive to a hotel near Baltimore harbor and meet with Andrew’s and Neil’s men to discuss any last-minute changes.

The next day would be full of meetings until, at around 9 pm, they’d head out to the warehouse where the deal was planned to go down.

They might have to play it by ear, but for now they planned on surrounding the warehouse to try and contain both the Butcher’s men as well as the West coast gang. Once both sides of the deal had stated their stakes in the deal, Andrew and Neil would bust in and take down everyone in the warehouse.

Andrew would seize the Butcher’s business, all men would pledge their eternal servitude and everyone would be happy.

Oh, and Andrew would somehow kill Nathan.

The plan was full of holes but somehow no one talked about them.

Andrew wondered what the Hatfords were thinking since there was no way Neil would be satisfied with a simple “and then Andrew would seize the Butcher’s business.”

Then again, since Andrew had to somehow explain why there would be an artillery of men waiting in Baltimore for them, he had gotten them to agree that the bust and containment of the two gangs would be largely Andrew’s job.

Best case, the Hatfords thought Andrew was walking into his certain death and didn’t want to be caught up in it, keeping their on-the-ground role in Baltimore to a minimum. Worst case, they were hoping to seize the Butcher business themselves, turning this into a spontaneous gang war.

Most likely, though, they were hoping to get their hands on some of the merch, waiting on the sidelines until Andrew was done with his side of the bust to step out of the shadows and start negotiating.

Not that any of their plans mattered.

Right after landing in Philadelphia, they would be on Andrew’s turf, constantly monitored by the NSA and FBI. Colleagues from the FBI would pick them up at the airport—Andrew didn’t want to think about who the FBI would send, too familiar with some of their more useless agents—followed by a meeting in their hotel.

That meeting should be interesting to say the least, with Neil and his men and Andrew and his colleagues from the agency.

He figured that as long as no one would draw their gun, it would be deemed a success.

The following day would be just as awkward, with FBI and NSA again posing as criminals with Andrew as their mob boss. Andrew was almost looking forward to ordering them around.

Seth would definitely have to get him coffee, Andrew thought gleefully.

He wasn’t familiar with the warehouse yet but trusted his team at home to have staked out the property by the time he and Neil landed.

There was so much that could go wrong, but with three years in the making, this could be a major step in the direction of taking down the Moriyamas. Even catching a single high-ranking member of the Butcher’s circle in the middle of a crime would be invaluable since they could then offer them a deal in exchange for inside information.

The thought that they might be able to take down the entire crew was unbelievable.

Not to mention the testimony from the Butcher himself.

Nathan Wesninski would be the prime target, all eyes on him to make sure he would be taken into custody. Alive.

Andrew didn’t like that he would not hold up his side of the deal with Neil.

Not for the first time, he hoped Neil would forgive him.

Thinking about the impending bust, he hoped Neil would forgive him for a lot of things.

* * *

**August 26 | 10:37 am GMT+1 | Hallway, first floor, Hatford House, London, England**

Coming down the stairs, Andrew was about to turn to the living room door, when he heard low voices hissing at each other.

Slowly walking toward Stuart’s office, he saw Neil standing in the doorway next to a guy he didn’t recognize. He was about a foot taller and looked as if even a lifetime of ass kissing would never help him grow into the expensive suit he was wearing.

Andrew could only think of one person this could be.

“My job is not to protect some low life criminal.”

“You're right,” Neil snapped, hand on the doorknob as if they had intended to leave the room before their argument had started, “your job is to protect a high-profile criminal.”

Neil stopped short of another remark, suddenly turning toward Andrew.

“Hi Drew.” His voice was remarkably restrained, an impressive attempt at appearing unconcerned.

“Neil, Theobald the Third.” Andrew nodded at the guy.

Neil’s lips twitched, confirming Andrew’s guess as to who the guy was. Andrew could see why he bothered Neil so much, he doubted he wanted to have any prolonged conversation with him, either.

Looking at the guy’s face, he probably felt the same about Andrew. He looked almost disgusted at seeing him.

Rude.

Without another word, Andrew turned around and went to the kitchen. He wasn’t here to impress some mobster guard who didn’t know his place.

* * *

**August 28 | 3:25 pm GMT+1 | Living room, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew was sitting in his favorite corner of the ugly couch when Neil walked in, curling up in the opposite corner. Andrew had been reading a book he had randomly picked up, the muted TV showing a news channel. Neil’s posture was stiff, the way he tended to behave after one of his family meetings hadn’t gone his way.

“The flight is booked for the day before the bust. Take-off is planned for 3:30.”

“In the afternoon.”

Neil paused and looked over at Andrew, arm outstretched and hand halfway to picking up a pen from the couch table.

“Well, yeah, obviously. I doubt I would be able to get you out of bed for a night flight.”

Laughter was dancing in Neil’s eyes, some of the tension leaving his frame. Andrew’s chest tightened at Neil’s matter-of-fact voice when talking about the two of them. As if it was normal that he knew anything about Andrew’s sleeping habits.

As if it was okay for him to know anything about Andrew at all.

“Funny.” Andrew tried to go for a flat tone but wasn’t sure if he succeeded.

“Thanks.” Neil had the audacity to wink at Andrew. “Anyway, we’ll leave here an hour before. We’ll fly private, so we won’t have to deal with any traffic at the airport. But we still want to plan with some buffer just in case.”

“Makes sense.” Andrew watched Neil lean back and rotate the pen over his knuckles, too fast for Andrew’s eyes to follow. “So why are you all tense?”

Neil rolled his eyes at that. “I’m not tense. Your mom is tense.”

“Past tense.”

That earned Andrew a grin.

“I said it right, right?”

Now it was Andrew’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yes, idiot, congratulations on landing and then ruining a mom joke.”

Neil just snorted, focusing back on balancing the pen on his knuckles.

After a minute of silence, Andrew got bored of Neil ignoring his question.

“Neil.”

“Drew.”

“Really?”

With a deep sigh, Neil caught the pen in his hand and looked over at Andrew.

“Just annoyed with Dick Suckballs.” Neil shrugged, eyebrows furrowed. “So, nothing new. Don’t worry about it.”

"Is Theo even his real name?"

"Doubt it. That dude is too shifty to give us his real name."

That answer surprised Andrew. The guy had seemed like a major douche, but Andrew had thought that at least within the Hatford family, secrecy had no place.

"How do you not know his name?"

"Why would I? For all I care his name could be Doogle McFuckface."

Andrew watched Neil for a moment, pen again rotating over his knuckles.

"You know everyone else's name in your family."

At that, Neil turned an incredulous look on Andrew, pen dropping into his lap.

"That asshole is _not_ part of my family." His voice was sharp, reminding Andrew of the first time they had met. "I would shoot myself if I was related to that vulture."

"You're related to your father." Andrew could barely keep the amusement from his voice. Sometimes, Neil made no sense.

"Well." Neil paused. "I suppose that's true. But at least my father is not some spineless, empty suit." He picked the pen back up and started twirling it again. "If he tells you he'll cut your legs off with a butter knife, he'll actually follow through."

Andrew didn't see how that was a good thing, so he let silence settle between them instead.

* * *

**September 1 | 0:42 am GMT+1 | Neil’s room, Hatford House, London, England**

The room was dark, moonlight shining onto the bed where the curtains had not been drawn completely closed. Watching the slow rise and fall of Neil’s chest, Andrew did his best to commit every single piece of this moment to his memory.

The shy smile Neil had given Andrew before closing his eyes, completely and utterly trusting Andrew next to him.

The quiet snuffle as he buried his face further into the pillow.

The slight flutter of his long eye lashes as he dreamt in his sleep.

Andrew tried to remember the first time he had seen Neil, three months ago in a neighborhood not far from here. He had been so sure that Neil, slender and twitchy, wouldn’t stand a chance. About ten seconds later, he had been taught a lesson in humility.

The day after tomorrow would take them to the States where this entire charade would come to an end in a bust of Neil’s father. Andrew tried to ignore the fact that the bust would also include Neil, but the churning feeling in his stomach wouldn’t go away.

He also failed to imagine what would happen after the bust. Wymack still hadn’t been able to give him a definitive answer. As it stood, WITSEC was adamantly refusing to take in Neil, putting their decision off until after an assessment after the bust and Andrew was starting to doubt if Wymack would be able get WITSEC to change their minds.

Andrew trusted Wymack with his life. Had done so for years.

But slowly, he was no longer sure how far that trust went when it came to Neil.

With his team continuing to hold off on a decision, maybe it was time for Andrew to decide on a contingency plan to get Neil out of this situation himself. Various scenarios had been swirling through his mind for weeks and tonight was no different.

This young man sleeping next to him, that had turned his life upside down, might get him to become the one thing he only played at being.

For Neil, he might just become the criminal everyone already thought he was.


	7. Chapter 7—Neil

> **blindside**
> 
> _noun_ | _blind side_ | direction where one is unable to see approaching danger; the blind side can also manifest in an organization or person
> 
> _verb_ | _blindside_ | _also blindsided_ | to attack or be attacked on someone’s blind side

* * *

**September 1 | 7:47 pm GMT+1 | Kitchen, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew was slowly stirring pasta sauce in a large pot on the stove, while Neil leaned against the counter next to him. Their hands were lying next to each other on the counter, pinkies linked.

“Cooking dinner again, does that count as being charming?” Neil asked, voice teasing, bumping his shoulder carefully against Andrew's.

“Yeah,” Andrew glanced at the pasta boiling in the pot next to the sauce, “I heat up a glass of pasta sauce on the stove and boom, instant romance.”

Neil laughed at Andrew's deadpan tone. How anyone thought Andrew wasn’t funny was beyond him.

“Neil, a word?”

Neil's laugh died on his lips when he saw his uncle standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Sure.” After a quick look at Andrew, Neil pushed off the counter and followed his uncle to his study.

Closing the door, Stuart turned to Neil. “Everything ready for tomorrow?”

“Uhm.” That was not what Neil had expected Stuart to want to talk about. “Yeah, we're packed and ready. The flight is at 3:30 pm, so we'll leave after lunch.”

Stuart was nodding along, brows furrowed.

“And the DEA will meet you at the airport?”

“No, we'll meet them at the hotel tomorrow evening.”

“Why not at the airport? It would be safer.”

“We'll meet Andrew's men at the airport, like we all had agreed. I'd rather have that group of people not run into each other in a public space.” Having MI5, DEA and Andrew's mob of criminals in the same room was sure to be an interesting meeting.

"Neil.” Stuart paused for a moment as if looking for the right words.

Neil would appreciate it if he could find them a bit faster since he had dinner waiting for him.

“This is not Love Island, you know that, right?”

“Huh?”

Stuart rolled his eyes at Neil. “The TV show, with the strangers in the house, and the, you know.”

“You know I don't watch TV.”

Taking a deep breath, Stuart tried again. “This thing between you and Andrew? You can't take that with you to America.”

Before Neil could respond, Stuart continued, “I get that you think you found someone who seems like-minded and that you don't have that with anyone here in the house yet, but that's what your mother thought as well when she met Nath—”

“Andrew is nothing like Nathan,” Neil cut in, sharply.

“You don't know that.” Stuart looked at Neil imploringly. “Just be careful. The day after tomorrow, he will be arrested. For trafficking drugs and heavy-duty firearms. For selling government secrets. Most likely, for treason against the United States.”

“You said you talked to Theo.” Neil’s voice was cold, not letting through any of the swirling fear creeping their way up into his thoughts. “He and his fancy officers at MI5 said they might look into extenuating circumstances for Andrew.”

“Neil."

“No,” Neil said forcefully, standing up taller, “I’ve been following all your bullshit decisions about not letting Andrew in on the mission for weeks even though he would be a great informant. I know Andrew would work with us if we just gave him the chance. He’s been sharing a lot of information about the deals he’s made over the last couple years with me.”

“Yes, and you haven’t shared any of that information with Theo. What is he supposed to do?”

“How about he trusts me. We’ve been working with him for years!” Neil couldn’t believe this. “This,” Neil emphasized by pointing at Stuart, “this is the reason why I haven’t told Theo. As soon as I talk, I give up control over the information. At least right now I have leverage.”

“Leverage for what!?”

“For Andrew!” Neil yelled, not caring about the volume of their voices.

Stuart just stared at Neil, Neil staring back, tension growing between them with every second that ticked by.

“Neil, I get that you like him, but—”

“No. No buts. Andrew will not go to prison. He has been forthcoming for almost the entire time. Stuart,” Neil took a deep breath, trying to calm down, “I know monsters when I see them, and he is not one.”

They looked at each other for a long time, neither of them saying anything.

“Just,” Neil tried once more, “talk to Theo again. Please?”

“Okay, I’ll talk to him again.” Stuart looked at Neil with sad eyes, shaking his head. “Just don’t get your hopes up just yet. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Neil let his gaze wander across the room for a moment, taking in the old-fashioned furniture, the pompous chandelier, the darkening sky outside. Looking back at his uncle, he almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

“I think it’s already too late for that.”

Before Stuart could say anything else, Neil left the room and went back to the only person he really wanted to be with in this house full of family members.

* * *

**September 1 | 8:21 pm GMT+1 | Kitchen, Hatford House, London, England**

Andrew was leaning against the kitchen counter in front of the stove, typing on his phone but looking up when Neil walked in.

He furrowed his brows when he saw Neil’s face. “Okay?”

Neil just hummed, unsure if their yelling had been loud enough to be heard from the kitchen. “He was just checking the times for tomorrow, making sure he got everything.”

Andrew looked as if he wanted to call him on his bullshit but thankfully dropped it, proving not for the first time that he understood Neil better than anyone else in his life.

Neil wasn’t sure if he should cry or laugh at the insanity of it all.

Deciding that he would ignore the messed up situation for a little bit longer, he nodded at the phone still in Andrew’s hands and asked, “Nicky?”

At that, Andrew locked his phone and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Yeah, he’s excited that I’ll be flying back to the States.”

“That’s good.”

Neil tried to not think about how he might never get to meet the people whose names Andrew had shared quietly with Neil only last week, trusting him to not use the information against him.

Andrew just shrugged before taking out plates from the cupboard and piling on generous portions of spaghetti for the two of them. As they settled down at the kitchen table, Neil remembered what they had been talking about before Stuart had interrupted them.

“You were right.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows at him, already busy shoveling spaghetti into his mouth.

“Instant romance.”

Caught off-guard, Andrew choked on his spaghetti and started coughing, shaking his head slightly. After Neil was sure that Andrew would survive, he grinned, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“You’re an idiot.”

That just made Neil laugh out loud, the creeping feeling of panic finally receding again.

* * *

**September 2 | 8:43 pm GMT+1 | Private airplane, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean**

Neil was finishing the last couple bites of his bread roll, while Andrew next to him was scraping up the remaining bites of Neil’s dessert. There was a bit of chocolate on Andrew’s upper lip but he caught it with a napkin before Neil could do anything about it.

They had left home at 2 pm and had been on their private flight to Philadelphia for the past five hours. So far, everything had gone to plan. Watching Andrew trying to fit the additional dessert plate on his tray, Neil wondered how much longer they had before their luck would run out and something unexpected would happen.

Shoving his worries to the back of his mind, he focused instead on the fact that Andrew seemed to be doing better. Neil hadn’t understood why he had been tense all morning and afternoon, only clueing in to Andrew’s apprehension of flying when they took off and Andrew had gone completely still, not moving a muscle aside from his increasingly rapid breathing.

Neil had tried to distract him by telling him embarrassing stories about George, and Stuart, and Emma, and Max, and everyone else he could think of that Andrew was now familiar with. Finally, once the plane had leveled out, Andrew had managed to return the eye contact. Another ten minutes later, Neil could see Andrew slowly relaxing.

Neil was still amazed that he had any effect on Andrew, much less being able to help him in a situation of stress.

Andrew always appeared immovable. Strong in the face of anything the world threw at him. After the last three months, he had no problem imagining Andrew going up against the most dangerous men in the world, despite being entirely unprepared for the reality of this business.

Just remembering how Neil had been able to hurl truth after ugly truth at Andrew without so much as a flinch from the other man. How he had been allowed to talk about the fucked up stuff Nathan had done without being told to _shut up and forget about it._ There was nothing Neil could ever do to repay Andrew. For the first time in his life, Neil had felt as if where he was—who he was—was right.

He wasn’t ready to lose that.

For the millionth time he thought about what to do about the impending bust and Andrew’s arrest.

This morning, MI5 had finally relented and confirmed that they would look into whether they could do something for Andrew. But even after several years of partnership, despite Neil _being part_ of the agency, he did not trust them.

Not when it came to Andrew.

He would have to see how he could get Andrew out of this mess himself. DEA would most likely arrest him at the bust scene even if MI5 may or may not eventually step in. Neil decided that relying on MI5 was too risky. Maybe, after the arrest, Neil could convince the DEA of a transfer to a different location that he could hijack.

Watching Andrew lifting the footrest of his seat once more to get a couple more hours of sleep, Neil thought about all the variables that were yet unknown. No matter what would happen, he would not let Andrew go. He would not let a bunch of ignorant vultures take this away from Neil. They had dictated every aspect of his life for too long. Enough was enough.

Reaching over and linking their pinkie fingers, he decided that this bust was the last time they would tell him what to do.

Once their meals had been cleared away, Neil turned toward Andrew. For a moment, he watched him trying to spread his blanket with only one hand, marveling at how this grumpy and stoic man had managed to turn his life upside down.

“Do you know Love Island?”

Andrew looked over at Neil, momentarily pausing his struggle to get comfortable. “It’s the show Stuart and the girls always watched in the living room.”

“What’s it about?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow at Neil but answered anyway, probably humoring Neil until he could figure out the reason for the question.

“It’s a trashy TV show with a bunch of idiots that are stuck in a house and hook up with each other.” Andrew slumped further down in his seat, wriggling uselessly under his blanket. “They pick a partner and the audience votes for them to stay or leave. If they stay, they can pick someone new for the next decision. It’s entertaining in a bad way.”

That sounded awfully superficial, Neil thought. He wondered if Stuart was misunderstanding what he and Andrew had found in each other.

They hadn’t just picked each other out of boredom.

And Neil wouldn’t just find someone else once this bust was done.

Reaching over to help Andrew pull up his blanket rather than letting go of his hand, Neil knew without a doubt that even if he could be with someone else, he would never want to.

* * *

**September 2 | 7:17 pm GMT-4 | Philadelphia International Airport, Philadelphia, United States**

By the time they landed in Philadelphia, the sun was already setting. They had initially planned on arriving even later to take advantage of the darkness but had ultimately decided that rush hour was more useful in case Nathan was monitoring people coming in and out of the airport.

After putting on their holsters and sliding guns and knives into their rightful place while still in the relative privacy of the airplane, they stepped out onto a secluded area of the tarmac. They walked a short distance across the ramp toward a man wearing a dark suit, hands clasped in front of him.

Neil could tell that Andrew wasn’t happy with their pick-up but didn’t say anything. Instead, they simply followed the guy to a black SUV parked in a private area. A short woman with corkscrew curls was waiting for them, most likely tasked with making sure that no one tampered with the car in their absence.

“Hi boss, how was the flight?” Her voice was cheery, a stark contrast to the serious mood.

“Delightful.” Neil barely recognized Andrew’s dismissive tone. Deciding that he could wait until they were alone to make fun of Andrew’s mob boss voice, he merely watched Andrew interact with his men for now.

He understood better than most what it meant to play a role. To become a character just to fulfill the expectations others had of your position. After all, Neil was no stranger to turning off his humanity when he had to. He wouldn’t have survived into his twenties if he was.

Neil noticed the guy walking to the driver seat when he was stopped by Andrew’s sharp voice.

“Gordon.”

With a clenched jaw, the guy handed the car keys over to Andrew.

Finally taking his eyes off Andrew, Neil focused on the young woman still standing next to the passenger seat door and gave her a smirk Nathan would’ve been proud of. If her flinch was any indication, Andrew was not the only one who fell back seamlessly into his role.

Neil wasn’t here as Andrew’s plus one. He was here as the Butcher’s son and Head of the Hatford family, the most influential crime family in the UK.

“Get in the car. Gordan, Cross, you stay here. I’ll see Reynolds later.”

With that, Andrew threw his duffle bag into the back seat and got in the car, shutting his door not waiting for a response.

Glad he wouldn’t have to sit in the back, cornered like a caged animal, or in the front, vulnerable to an attack from behind, Neil stepped around the woman and got in the car, putting his bag down between his feet.

Gordon looked as if he wanted to kill Andrew but thankfully didn’t act on it. The woman, on the other hand, seemed to have expected to stay behind.

Neil could swear he saw amusement in her eyes as she watched them pull out of the parking lot.

* * *

**September 2 | 9:42 pm GMT-4 | Parking lot, Executive Inn, Baltimore, United States**

“Neil.”

He startled awake at the voice, momentarily disoriented. Andrew was sitting next to him, already collecting his phone, wallet and a couple key cards from the middle console.

Taking a deep breath and blinking a couple times, Neil took stock of his surroundings. He was slumped over in the passenger seat, a row of doors of a motel visible through the windshield. He must’ve nodded off while Andrew had driven them to their accommodation near the Baltimore harbor, seeming right at home behind the wheel.

Squinting at the dashboard clock, he saw that it had barely taken them two hours. Andrew must’ve made up the time they had lost in the Philadelphia traffic.

Following Andrew out of the car, they took their duffle bags and passed several doors before Andrew stopped in front of room 114 and held one of the key cards against the keypad to open the door. Stepping into the room behind Andrew, he took note of the two queen-sized beds to his right, both with an old-fashioned throw-over in a red-yellow pattern. The walls were a mix between red and orange, giving the room a quaint look. On the left was a chair next to a drawer with a TV on top and a desk in the corner. A desk chair was pushed all the way under the desk. Straight ahead was a round doorway to a darker section of the room with a wardrobe on the left and a door on the right, probably leading to a small bathroom.

“Your room is next door.” Andrew put his duffle bag on the bed further into the room, not moving to give Neil his key card.

Not intending to use the other room, Neil put his duffle bag on one of the chairs. “Sounds good.”

They were still inspecting the room and bathroom (Neil wouldn’t put it past MI5 to bug the motel rooms but thankfully couldn’t find anything) when Andrew’s phone vibrated, barely ten minutes after they had arrived at the Inn.

A couple seconds later, there was a single knock on the door. Andrew took his gun out of his shoulder holster—Neil figured it was more for show than anything else—and slowly made his way to the window.

After a quick glance through the gap in the curtain, he opened the door and revealed two women. From Neil’s spot near the bathroom door, he could watch them for a moment before they would be able to see him. One was easily half a foot taller than Andrew, with relatively broad shoulders. She had blond hair that was tied back into a high ponytail and bright red lips, revealing perfect white teeth as she grinned at Andrew.

“Coach wants a raise.” Her voice was raspy and lazed with far more humor than Neil would’ve expected based on how Andrew had interacted with his team at the airport.

“Tell him to go fuck himself.” Andrew’s voice was flat, but it sounded more annoyed than homicidal.

The exchange made no sense to Neil, so he figured they were talking in some kind of code.

“Hi Andrew,” the other woman spoke up, her voice much gentler.

She was slightly shorter than the other woman and less bulky. Her hair was short and bright white. Neil wondered why someone on the wrong side of the law would go for such a recognizable look. Never in a million years would he have dyed his hair that color back when he and his mother had still been on the run.

Instead of answering, Andrew merely took a step back and let the two women into the room, before closing the door again. It only took them a second to notice Neil standing in the shadow of the dark bathroom. Immediately the mood in the room shifted, it was almost tangible how the temperature dropped to ice-cold.

Both stood up straighter, assessing Neil. He wondered what they saw in him as he moved to lean against the arched doorframe. Not about to give them the satisfaction of having rattled him, he did his best to look casual.

Still, he couldn’t help but think about how, if they were to move against him, he stood no chance. His position at the back of the motel room put him at a disadvantage if he had to escape. Maybe he had made a mistake by tru—

“Stop it,” Andrew growled at the two newcomers, “sit down.”

The blonde raised an eyebrow at Andrew, amusement returning to her expression as she watched him walk over to Neil and lean against the other side of the doorway.

“Apologies.” The other woman was still looking at Neil. “Neil Hatford. It is good to meet you. Thank you for your hospitality toward Andrew over the last couple months. And making tomorrow night possible, of course.”

Her voice was too sweet, raising the hairs on Neil’s neck. Something about her put Neil on edge. While blondie looked as if she relied on brute force during a fight, this one seemed far more sneaky.

It took him a moment to realize that he didn’t trust her because that was too close to his own fighting style.

By the time his own phone finally vibrated, signaling the arrival of his own team, blondie had made herself comfortable on the bed closer to the door, watching Neil with an inquisitive expression, while the other was standing guard between the TV and the desk. About two minutes after his phone had stopped ringing, there were three knocks. Neil swiftly moved across the room and past the two beds, very aware of everyone in the room watching him.

He had only worked with the DEA twice in the past and never in person. They hadn’t been able to tell him in advance who the DEA would send for tonight, but he hoped it would be someone he knew. He answered the knock with two knocks of his own, hoping the agents would remember the agreed upon signal: each knock for the number of people aside from him and Andrew.

Two knocks answered him.

Two agents.

With his right hand on his gun in his shoulder holster, he opened the door sideways so as not to turn his back on the people in the room.

He recognized the two agents outside from the files from earlier jobs with the American delegation. Seeing them immediately made it easier to breathe, releasing some of the tension that had been building since the arrival of Andrew’s team.

Dan gave Neil a curt nod, her posture as no-nonsense as he remembered her.

“Come in.” Stepping out of the way, the two newcomers walked into the room, immediately assessing the situation.

Matt was easily the most imposing person in the room. He was at least a foot taller than Neil, with spikey hair and a serious look on his face that was impressive when you were familiar with his actual personality. Dan was somewhere between Matt’s and Neil’s height, her built close to that of blondie.

“Can we get started? I’m getting bored.” Blondie was draped over the bed, watching the two latest arrivals as they moved around the room. “Or is anyone else going to join our merry group of criminals.”

Neil took a deep breath and watched as Dan walked past Andrew to stand next to the bed while Matt took up position between the first bed and the windows. Once everyone had claimed their spot, he walked further into the room and took guard between the TV and the chair with his bag on.

One wannabe mobster, two thugs, two DEA agents and one MI5 officer.

Good thing he was used to his life being a fucking mess.

Knowing that the DEA had brought in Dan and Matt made Neil hope that everyone was taking this whole thing seriously. The two were already familiar with Neil and his family and understood the extreme confidentiality of anything this operation included. Under no circumstances could anyone know that the DEA, Interpol and MI5 were involved as any leak could make this bust a death trap for them.

“Boss?”

The following silence had Neil looking over to Andrew, waiting for his response. Andrew’s raised eyebrow, mocking him without saying a single word, clued Neil in to the fact that _he_ was the boss.

His eyes quickly snapped to Dan, who was giving him an incredulous look.

“What?” Belatedly, he realized that he was supposed to be the head of a powerful crime family. “Sorry, jet lag.” He waved dismissively. “Go on.”

“We brought blueprints of the warehouse where the deal will take place.” Dan held out a bunch of rolled up papers. “Should we spread them on the bed and go through the steps for tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Rubbing at his eyes, Neil tried to focus on the task at hand. Once again, he wondered why they needed to have this meeting tonight. As far as he could tell it only served as a charade to appease Andrew and make him believe that Neil’s men supported this.

Instead of commenting on the absurdity of the moment, though, he followed the others to the bed where Dan proceeded to roll out the blueprints of the harbor and the warehouse in question.

Internally, Neil kept running through his mantra so as not to say something stupid due to sleep deprivation—look at blueprints, listen to the plan, don’t fall asleep with two criminals in the room who may or may not want to kill him.

Once the blueprints were spread out on the bed and everyone was clustered around them, Dan went through the plan for the following night and pointed out where everyone would be during the stint.

The deal was supposed to go down at roughly 11:30 at night, so they expected Nathan to arrive as early as 9 pm to secure the location. In order to not be detected, they would time their arrival so Nathan’s men would already be done securing the area and could be taken down one by one. Alive, if possible.

Once they had the warehouse surrounded with Neil’s and Andrew’s men, they would wait until the deal was concluded—supposedly in order to minimize the chance of attention straying elsewhere. In truth, the DEA needed the deal to be on record to be admissible in court. Lastly, they would bust in, arrest everyone—including Andrew—and put them in jail.

Neil hoped the DEA agents would vastly outnumber the criminals in the area, otherwise this might very well lead to a shoot-out.

Dan continued taking the group through an intricate fake plan all the way to where they would take the drugs and weapons after Andrew had supposedly taken down Nathan and given Nathan’s men the option to either follow him or die. She said it with such nonchalance, Neil was almost impressed. As far as he knew, Dan was extremely critical of lethal force. It made him wonder how often she must’ve rehearsed that sentence to make it sound convincing.

Despite Dan’s convincing presentation, there were so many glaring holes in the plan, he couldn’t believe that no one seemed to notice them. Not for the first time, Neil was surprised that this operation had ever gotten the green light. For example, the fact that one of the entrances was seemingly not covered or how there would be no one on the roof for protection from above. But neither Andrew nor his two thugs said anything, taking the plan in with very few comments.

It once again made Neil wonder how Andrew had survived in this business for this long when he was so clueless about even basic things like securing the sight of a major drug deal.

Protecting Andrew would have to be his first priority tomorrow.

* * *

**September 3 | 0:37 am GMT-4 | Room 114, Executive Inn, Baltimore, United States**

They had gone over the official plan for tomorrow night two more times by the time Andrew’s and his men had finally left. If you asked Neil, the plan had made less and less sense each time they went through it but if no one complained, he didn’t care.

After moving the bedside table between the second bed and the wall out of the way, they had pushed the bed all the way against the wall, minimizing the access points in case of an attack during the night.

Taking turns in the tiny bathroom, they got ready for bed, movements slow and eyelids getting heavier by the minute. After a final check of the parking area and door, they turned off the lights in the room and crawled under the blanket with Andrew against the wall. He could tell that Andrew was just as tired as he was, jet lag getting the best of them. Still, tomorrow loomed over them, making it difficult to truly relax and fall asleep.

At this point, Neil was 99 percent sure that Andrew would agree to working with the government. He tried not to let Stuart’s parting words— _You’ve only known him for a couple months, you don’t know what he is truly capable of_ —get to him.

MI5 had said they would support Andrew to get a deal with the government. Andrew would accept the deal.

He would.

Looking at Andrew, they were both lying on their sides and facing each other. The light from the hotel sign outside made it easier to make out Andrew in the dark. Neil moved the rest of the way until their foreheads touched, rubbing his nose against Andrew’s with every breath.

“Maybe you should stay here tomorrow evening,” Neil whispered into the silence of the room.

Andrew’s responding look was halfway between pained and incredulous, before answering with his deep and slightly raspy voice Neil had grown used to hearing every night, “If I'm not there, how am I supposed to take over Nathan's men.”

Why did Andrew always have to make sense?

“You could…,” Neil paused, trying to come up with something that sounded reasonable, “maybe you could step into the void. Later. It doesn't have to be in the same night.”

“Neil, it'll be okay.”

Andrew gently placed his right hand on Neil’s neck, playing with his hair. Neil moved even closer, draping his arm carefully over Andrew’s waist and tracing mindless patterns on his back.

He was still surprised at how good it felt to have Andrew so close. He wondered if Andrew felt the same. He hoped he did.

“I'll keep you safe.” Neil’s gaze wandered over Andrew’s face, his eyebrows that seemed to be stuck in a permanent frown, making him look more grumpy than he actually was, warm honey-brown eyes, cheeks that hid a set of dimples that had taken him months to discover, full lips that were softer than anything Neil had ever felt against his own. “I promise.”

Neil’s words made Andrew pause for a long moment, eyes locked. “Maybe you should stay away from the warehouse tomorrow.”

“What.” How would he be able to protect Andrew from the DEA if he wasn't there. “No. If I'm not there who would have your back.”

Neil caressed Andrew’s back as if to make his point, trying to ignore the rapid beat of his heart at the mere idea of Andrew going to the bust without him.

“I don’t need anyone to have my back.”

Listening to Andrew’s dismissive words, voice low but certain, felt like a heavy weight settling on Neil’s chest. Maybe it was dread. Maybe it was helplessness.

There was so much Andrew didn’t know. So much that he didn’t see coming. The thought of Andrew being blindsided tomorrow night—getting arrested and dragged to an interrogation room, not knowing that Neil would take care of everything if he just cooperated—felt like a vice, squeezing harder and harder, until Neil could barely breathe.

It made him want to confess everything to Andrew. So Andrew would understand what shitshow he had landed himself in and they could talk about this together. So they could find a way out of this, _together_.

He should tell him.

He should.

“Drew, I'm—”

Andrew’s phone interrupted him as it vibrated with an incoming message on the bedside table behind Neil.

“Hold that thought.”

Neil forced a huff at Andrew’s weak attempt to lighten the mood, watching him as he went on his elbow to be able to lean over Neil to reach for his phone.

Turning his head slightly, Neil pressed his nose against Andrew’s neck and breathed in the familiar scent.

_He didn’t want to lose this._

The words lodged themselves in Neil’s chest, climbing up his throat until they were almost choking him. Begging him to do something.

He didn't trust MI5 to keep Andrew safe. Neil barely trusted them to keep himself safe.

How was it possible that he felt safer with someone who had betrayed everyone in his life than with an entire government that had pledged to stand by and protect him. Watching Andrew unlock his phone, Neil wanted to scream against the injustice of it all.

After a childhood on the run, he had sworn himself to never run again. But, not for the first time, he thought how, for Andrew, he would do it in a heartbeat.

He wanted to drag Andrew from this bleak room, break into the next best car and drive away from here. Just to get Andrew to safety.

Looking up, he saw Andrew’s eyes quickly move over the screen, reading whatever message had come through. If Neil hadn’t been holding onto Andrew’s back, he might not have noticed some of the tension leaving his frame.

“Good news?” Neil was barely able to get the words out.

Andrew’s eyes moved minutely to the left until he made eye contact with Neil, still holding the phone in his right hand. After a long moment, he locked his phone and put it back on the table.

“Only if you call Nicky sending me the recipe to his apple crumble good news.”

The look Andrew was giving him had Neil’s heart trip over itself. He looked relieved, determined, almost happy, the corners of his lips lifting in the tiniest hint of a smile.

Pulling him down with the arm that was still around his waist, Andrew had to place his right forearm next to Neil's head to keep his balance.

“Drew. I...,” Neil knew he couldn’t tell Andrew the truth. But he wanted Andrew to know that he would do anything to make sure that tomorrow was not the end for them. “I'll keep you safe.”

Andrew just nodded at Neil's promise, leaning his forehead against Neil's.

“I'll keep you safe, too.” His voice full of conviction, as if he would never let anything come between them. As if it was Neil that was in danger, not the other way around.

Slowly leaning down the rest of the way, Andrew closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against Neil’s. They kissed as if sealing their promise, holding on to each other as if neither of them wanted to ever let go.

Neil had never expected to have something like this in his life. But now he'd rather die than live even one day without it. He wouldn’t let anyone take Andrew away from him.

Not even a government. Not even two.

* * *

**September 3 | 9:17 pm GMT-4 | Baltimore Harbor, Baltimore, United States**

The day had been exhausting. From the moment they had woken up to right now, as they were driving to the harbor, Neil felt as if he hadn’t had a single moment to stop and breathe. To let the reality of what was about to happen settle in.

He still had no word from Theo or Stuart on how to proceed once the bust had taken place. And as time crept forward, he wondered if he would truly have to drag Andrew away from the bust himself.

How was he even supposed to get out of the warehouse when the entire harbor would be swarming with federal agents?

Between briefings from his own team and joined meetings with Andrew’s men, he and Andrew had barely had any time alone. How was he supposed to let Andrew know when to run?

The urge to tell Andrew everything was so strong it was almost overwhelming. But he would not drag Andrew further down with himself. If he told Andrew in advance, Neil would be sharing government secrets and be prosecuted for treason. But if he snatched Andrew at the right moment and ran, then he would be a mere criminal.

Right? Maybe. He wasn’t entirely sure on the legal situation.

Also, Andrew was already wanted for treason against his government. Neil might as well join him.

No.

 _No_.

Sitting in the passenger seat as Dan drove them to the warehouse, Neil closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping for an epiphany that never came. All he knew was that he would not make things worse for Andrew. For now, he would follow the official protocol.

Andrew was in the SUV in front of them, riding with his team. Neil had seen him arguing with one of his men—apparently someone had decided that Andrew should ride shotgun. Neil wondered if Andrew might ‘accidentally’ shoot that person tonight for going against him.

Well.

If the person got shot by Andrew, it might very well have been by accident.

About two miles out from the warehouse, all cars turned off their lights, proceeding in the dark.

About half a mile out, they stopped and everyone stepped out onto the empty streets in between the massive warehouses left and right.

Several men stayed back, responsible for surrounding the premises with the SUVs. The rest started walking toward the warehouse as had been agreed by all sides. More men would move in from the other directions, effectively cutting off the area from anyone entering or leaving.

Neil saw Andrew hanging back, still standing next to his car. After a split-second decision, Neil quickly walked over until he was standing right in front of Andrew. He could barely make out his face in the dark, but just standing close made him feel better.

After a quick look around and making sure, everyone was busy spreading out in the agreed upon formation, Neil slowly leaned in. When Andrew tilted his head up the tiniest bit, he closed his eyes and brushed his lips against Andrew’s. Almost immediately, Andrew responded by grabbing the back of Neil’s shirt, using it to hold him close.

The kiss lasted only a moment, Andrew pulling back before anyone could notice them. Reluctantly, Neil stepped back as well.

After several beats of silence, eyes locked, they finally turned to the warehouse and followed the others.

* * *

**September 4 | 0:41 pm GMT-4 | Outside of warehouse C4.4, Evermore Logistics Services, Port of Baltimore, United States**

“Neil, it’s okay.”

Andrew’s voice barely broke through the haze in Neil’s foggy brain.

Neil wanted to believe him. But this was Nathan.

The man who had terrorized Neil his entire life.

The man who had made his life a living hell.

The man who had killed his mother.

“Neil.”

Andrew sounded far away, everything seemed muted as if Neil was stuck under water.

Everything except for Nathan’s laugh. He laughed and laughed. Looking at Neil, as if daring him to go against him.

They had surrounded the warehouse. As planned.

They had waited for Nathan to be on tape for an arms deal. As planned.

They had busted the deal. As planned.

But Nathan had gotten away. As Neil had known he would.

Neil had followed him, not caring about anyone else in his path, eyes fixated on Nathan. Andrew had followed him, both managing to get through one of the many exits of the warehouse and past two men that had been fighting. Neil assumed one of them was a DEA agent but hadn’t cared enough to check.

Once outside, Neil had shot at Nathan, hitting his leg, slowing him down. The noise of the gun barely registering.

Pulling the trigger, watching Nathan stumble, had felt cathartic.

But like the fucking cockroach that he was, Nathan had continued hobbling on one leg, dragging the other behind him.

Neil had promptly shot his other leg, making Nathan finally fall to the ground. Breathing heavily, Nathan had turned around to Neil, barely managing to sit upright and slowly bleeding out.

That had been when the laughing had started. An ugly sound that threatened to dredge up memories from Neil’s childhood.

Seeing the gun pointed at him, Nathan had raised an eyebrow, challenging. “Like father like son.”

“Neil, it’s over, he can’t get away.”

Behind him, Neil thought he heard shouting, probably the DEA arresting everyone. He wanted to tell Andrew to run, he wanted to ask Andrew to take him with him. He wanted to apologize to Andrew.

“Yes, _Neil_ , I can’t get away.” Nathan’s voice easily cut through the noise. “What are you going to do?”

But he would get away, wouldn’t he? Nathan always got away. Always.

And then he would hurt everyone Neil cared about.

_Nathan would hurt Andrew._

Neil was frozen to the spot, nothing but the smirk on Nathan’s face registering. It was an ugly pull of lips and bared teeth.

“Neil, it’s okay.” Andrew’s voice was low, insistent.

_Andrew._

“It’s okay, it’s over.”

“Yes, it is,” Neil whispered, a shot ringing out, echoing loudly from the warehouse walls around them.

For a moment, Nathan remained upright, mouth slightly open as if stunned, blood trickling from the bullet hole in between his eyes.

Finally, Nathan’s body fell back, hitting the dirty ground.

Only then did Neil lower his gun, the noise around him slowly getting louder as if someone was turning up the volume.

_He had killed Nathan._

Neil turned toward Andrew, finding him only a few feet away, staring at Neil with wide eyes.

_Nathan was dead._

He had to tell Andrew to get away.

_It was over._

Andrew.

The shouting from the warehouse got louder as if the last shot had drawn everyone’s attention to Andrew and Neil outside. Looking toward the warehouse, he could see blue and red flashing lights.

Why did the DEA have police sirens?

Blinking against the lights, he looked back to Andrew, locking eyes. Andrew’s face was lit up in blue and red, making it harder for Neil to decipher his expression.

For a moment it looked like desperation, it looked like regret.

“FBI, on your knees, drop your weapon!”

FBI? Why was the FBI her—

Without warning, Neil was tackled from behind, his head hitting the ground at full force.

Blinking, disoriented, he saw his gun laying on the ground a couple feet away.

Had he blacked out?

Pain shot up his neck as his arms were yanked back. Trying to look up, he thought he saw Andrew on his knees, arms in the air, talking with several black figures surrounding him.

_What was happening._

The world around him was spinning.

_He had to get Andrew out of here._

This was not how it was supposed to go.

_What was happening._

Feeling handcuffs click into place, he knew he shouldn’t have trusted MI5. Why were they arresting Neil? Had these vultures finally betrayed him? Why had he trusted them?

Looking around, he could no longer make out Andrew in the blinking lights.

Where was Andrew? Had he missed his chance to get him out of here?

_No no no._

Neil felt dizzy. There was a pulsing ache on his temple and he could feel blood running down the side of his face.

He thought he kept telling the people around him to let him go but couldn’t be sure. There was a droning, buzzing sound in his ears. Someone was pushing their knee into his back. He couldn’t tell where everyone had gone. He didn’t recognize anyone.

He was suddenly dragged to his feet and pushed toward a black SUV. Shoved into the backseat, he could see the warehouse still lit up in red and blue colors, people in black tactical gear swarming the place.

_What’d just happened._

* * *

**September 4 | 4:43 am GMT-4 | Interrogation room 2A, Federal Bureau of Investigation Headquarters, Washington, DC, United States**

Neil's head was throbbing mercilessly. The band-aid that had been applied haphazardly after they’d noticed the laceration on his left temple, was completely useless in stopping the blood trickling down his face and itched like hell.

He was trying to ignore the headache, but it was becoming harder with every minute.

Looking around himself, he wondered how much longer he would have to wait until someone would finally talk to him. After all, that’s what interrogation rooms were for, right?

He didn’t often watch TV but the room he was in right now? It looked like someone had gone to the set of one of those crime shows, packed it up and dumped it here, rickety chair and oversized mirrored wall included.

Somehow, he had expected the FBI to have more impressive rooms.

Because that’s where he apparently was. In an interrogation room of the fucking FBI, if he were to believe the agents who had taken him in.

Why the FBI had been at the harbor, he didn’t know.

Taking deep breaths, he willed the dizziness to go away. Paired with the lingering smell of blood, it was making him feel sick and he would rather not throw up.

They hadn’t even given him a fucking ibuprofen.

Assholes.

Neil hoped Andrew was doing better than him. From what he remembered, they had not slammed him into the ground like they had done with Neil. But who knew what had happened after Neil had been dragged away.

What if they had hurt Andrew?

Just the thought had his chest tighten with worry.

He had tried to reason with the agents, but no one had been willing to listen. Not the asshole that had dragged him away from the warehouse and shoved him into an SUV, not the driver during the hour-long drive, and not the agents who had transferred him through the parking garage to this very room.

At least they had removed the handcuffs once he’d made it here.

That had been several hours ago. He was still a bit wonky on the time because of the jetlag but if he had to guess, he would say he’d been in here for about two-and-a-half hours.

It all seemed very official. Which again begged the question, what the hell had happened that the FBI had taken him in. And where the fuck were his own agents. He didn’t even care whether it was the DEA or MI5 or Interpol or whoever the fuck, as long as someone would explain to him why he was currently sitting in front of a mirrored wall instead of behind it.

He was contemplating resting his head on his arms for a quick snooze, not willing to show whoever was watching him even an ounce of the frustration and queasiness he was feeling, when the door burst open and blondie from last night walked in.

What the fuck?

After slamming the door shut behind her, blondie threw a stack of folders on the table. Remaining standing, she crossed her arms and gave Neil what he supposed was her ‘pissed off’ look. Neil had literally been chased by a crazy man with an axe, so the look had no effect.

Not wanting her to be the only one posturing, though, Neil crossed his arms as well and leaned back, the chair creaking loudly with the movement. Raising one eyebrow, Neil decided to wait blondie out. No way was he going to give something away.

“Officer Neil Josten.”

That had Neil stopping short, the name hanging in the silence of the room. Not sure how to play this, he decided to remain silent.

In the middle of their stare-down, the door opened once again, this time more carefully.

In walked a heavyset man, his furrowed brows and unhappy look somehow reminded Neil of Andrew. The man had his shirt sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking out in several spots.

“That him?” He looked tired, his voice gruff.

“Yeah, that’s Officer Josten. He’s cleared by MI5 in the UK.” Blondie didn’t sound happy, her voice matter of fact as she continued, “He is suspected to have shot the Butcher. His father.”

Why was he still being held for interrogation if he had been cleared by MI5? Neil eyed the two people, wondering where this was going. Finally settling his glare on blondie, Neil almost missed the man’s next sentence.

“I’m David Wymack, division head at the NSA.”

Neil’s stomach dropped at that declaration, panic spreading through his body, making it hard to think straight. The NSA had no stakes in Nathan’s crimes. There was only one reason for them to be here: Andrew.

“This is Special Agent Reynolds from the FBI. It seems there might’ve been some miscommunication.”

“Miscommunication.” Neil almost choked on the word. He looked at blondie—Reynolds—challenging her to admit to her betrayal against Andrew. “You think?”

“Maybe you can help us clear some things up.”

“Sure, as soon as you tell me where you’ve taken Andrew.” A beat too late, he added, “Doe.”

Neil could’ve sworn he saw amusement in Reynolds’ eyes but couldn't be sure, the throbbing of his head getting worse again.

“Andrew,” she made sure to emphasize the name obnoxiously, “is with our agents, giving his account of what happened.”

“And what happened?” Neil sneered.

Before Reynolds could respond, the man calmly cut in, “It seems that one of the guys from the opposing gang was able to follow the Butcher out of the warehouse and shot him before anyone could get to him.” The silence rang loudly in the small room. “Does that match your memory of what happened?”

Neil didn’t have to hesitate. He wasn’t sure why Andrew had covered for him, or why this Wymack guy would give him the chance to merely agree to Andrew’s story, but he knew he would make up for it. He would get Andrew out of whatever mess he was in, no matter what it would take.

“Yes, that is exactly what happened.”


	8. Chapter 8—Andrew

> **we**
> 
> _plural pronoun_ | the inexplicable entity of you and I

* * *

**September 5 | 4:07 pm GMT-4 | Hallway, sixth floor, Federal Bureau of Investigation Headquarters, Washington, DC, United States**

Andrew was tired.

The last two days had been filled with interrogations and meetings, then more interrogations, and more meetings. At first, he got interrogated himself, then he could sit in and watch as Nathan’s men crumbled one after another.

They had managed that not a single person had escaped from the bust scene, ensuring that no information would find its way to the Moriyamas. Everyone was currently either sitting in an isolated prison cell or in an interrogation room.

And Nathan? The official story was that he had been shot during one of his deals, his men dispersing across the country.

Andrew’s lips twitched, remembering Neil shooting his father in cold blood.

_Bullseye._

His bosses had not been happy with it, hoping to take the Butcher in alive. But Andrew found himself oddly satisfied with the man’s death. He had tyrannized Neil’s life enough.

Neil.

Stepping into the elevator and pushing the button for the ground floor, he took a deep breath and watched the blinking floor numbers count down.

The last time Andrew had seen Neil, he had been on the ground in front of the warehouse of the bust site, yelling at the FBI agent handcuffing him.

Andrew had been uselessly standing by, lucky that his FBI colleagues had gotten to Andrew when they did or he likely would’ve joined Neil on the ground.

As it was, Andrew had spent the entire drive from Baltimore to the FBI wondering where they were taking Neil.

The night before the bust, Wymack had finally confirmed that they would make Neil a witness to the case rather than an accused. And he had wanted to believe Wymack. He did.

But in that moment, sitting in a car with agents he wasn’t familiar with. Not knowing where they had taken Neil. Not understanding why there had been DEA agents at the scene when this had explicitly been an FBI operation. Right in that moment, Andrew hadn’t been sure of anything anymore.

The last couple weeks, Andrew had been wondering if Neil would turn on his family. If he would accept the offer of witness protection. If he would vanish into thin air like the pipe dream he was.

If maybe he would leave a clue for Andrew to find him.

Thinking about Neil now, Andrew scoffed at his own idiocy. He had been trying to bulldoze his way to Neil’s interrogation room when someone had finally sat him down and cleared a few things up.

Neil.

Hyperaware of everyone around him, Andrew stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor of the building.

With all the new information about the Moriyamas, the FBI had signaled that they would take over, a hands-on approach via field agents apparently now more effective than the NSA’s previous approach of tracking crime networks in search of a connection to the Moriyamas. In other words, there was no longer any need for Andrew Doe.

Andrew had found his old team already working on an exit strategy to take Doe, government traitor and ambitious criminal, off the scene. The plan was supposed to be implemented within a couple weeks, so he wouldn’t be implicated with the Butcher bust. It had all made sense but somehow, he had wanted to challenge their plans anyway, too much nervous energy running through him to settle down and listen to their ideas.

When Wymack, with his phone still in his hand, had found him loudly criticizing their plans to kill off Doe, he had promptly kicked him out with a simple, “You’re required on the ground floor, go.”

Walking out into the open area, Andrew saw a lone figure ahead, a worn duffle bag on the ground next to his feet. Immediately, Wymack's words clicked into place.

Hair glinting a bright copper in the afternoon sun shining through the windows of the entrance hall.

_Neil._

At once, everything else dropped away, all his focus drawn to the man only a couple feet away. Walking up to him, Andrew tried not to speed up.

“Officer Josten.” The name felt funny in his mouth, unfamiliar but right.

Neil’s head snapped in Andrew’s direction. When Neil’s gaze locked with his, Andrew felt his chest seizing and breathing becoming difficult.

“Agent Minyard.” Neil’s voice was low, disbelieving.

Andrew stopped two feet away from Neil, not sure if he was still welcome to come closer. They had both lied, they had both omitted parts of their truths.

But.

Despite everything he now knew, Andrew couldn’t help but feel as if Neil was still the one person in the world to know Andrew better than even he himself did.

Andrew’s eyes were roaming over Neil, taking in his rumpled, washed-out shirt, the black tactical pants from the bust, his messy curls and tense shoulders, before getting stuck on the white bandage on his left temple. At once, he remembered the asshole that had tackled Neil at the bust scene.

Andrew hadn’t known that Neil had gotten hurt.

He would find out that asshole’s name an–

“It’s okay, Drew.” Neil must’ve noticed where his eyes had landed. His voice had been soft, unsteady.

Neil’s voice had _never_ been unsteady.

Andrew glared at Neil. How dare he say it’s okay when Andrew’s world had stopped the moment they had dragged Neil away from him.

When Andrew had been trying to figure out how to get Neil out of this mess for weeks just to be told that Neil himself was a secret operative.

When Andrew wanted nothing more than to ask if _they_ were okay.

When, even though his heart was going crazy and his breathing was too fast and his hands were sweaty, he was still relieved just by looking into Neil’s stupid blue eyes.

Relieved that Neil was here.

That he was safe. Because Andrew would make sure that he would always be safe.

If Neil let him.

“See,” swallowing hard, Andrew tried to sound annoyed, but was sure Neil would see through his bullshit, “I knew something didn’t add up about you. Too rebellious for the mob.”

Neil choked out a surprised laugh—it was the best sound Andrew had ever heard in his life.

“And I knew you were too good, too righteous.”

A smile slowly spread on Neil's face as he stepped closer to Andrew, not breaking eye contact. He carefully reached out and, after another long beat, tapped Andrew’s left hand.

Not hesitating, not wanting to miss his chance, Andrew hooked his index finger with Neil, pulling him closer until their foreheads touched.

“After they took me in,” Neil's voice was low, his breath hitting Andrew's lips, “I spent the entire time planning how to break you out of federal prison.”

Andrew looked up into Neil’s eyes, rubbing their noses against each other.

“Everything happened so fast, and then I was tackled to the ground and they got to you before I could and...," shaking his head, Neil took a deep breath. “I was… scared. I didn't know what happened and where they took you.”

Neil quickly looked around them, before going on, “I had planned on snatching you before the DEA could. Steal the next best car, get the fuck out of there.”

“You said you never wanted to be on the run again.”

“For you, I would.” A self-deprecating laugh broke out of Neil. “I would've done anything to make sure you were safe.”

“You’re so stupid.” Andrew intertwined their fingers, squeezing slightly. His other hand settled on Neil’s waist, clutching his shirt and pulling him impossibly closer. “I thought about telling them that I shot your father, but I wasn't sure if you would believably corroborate that story.”

“There's no way you could've made that shot.”

“ _We_ know that,” Andrew carefully bumped his nose against Neil’s, “but they don't.”

“How can they not know,” Neil leaned back slightly, his voice incredulous, "it's so obvious.”

“Shut up.” Andrew pulled Neil back in until their lips were almost touching.

“Make me,” Neil whispered into the space between them.

“Yes?” Andrew asked, hoping, praying, for this to be real.

The answer was barely more than a sigh of breath.

“Yes.”

Andrew finally leaned in to press his lips against Neil’s, knowing that whatever happened next, he would never again let go of Neil.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my story! As always, kudos and comments make my day and are always welcome!


End file.
